


The Clockwork Servant

by raven_of_hydecastle



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adorable Merlin (Merlin), Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ancient magic, Arthur Finds Out About Merlin’s Magic (Merlin), Assassin Merlin (Merlin), Automaton, Clumsy Merlin (Merlin), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e01 The Curse of Cornelius Sigan, Episode: s04e06 A Servant of Two Masters, Gen, Identity Reveal, Magic Revealed, Male Friendship, Merlin is an idiot, Toxic Relationship, kind of steampunk but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-01-12 03:09:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 37,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18437792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_of_hydecastle/pseuds/raven_of_hydecastle
Summary: Cornelius Sigan rotted in his tomb. But beneath the castle, forgotten by time was his triumph; a new body, immortal and undying, waiting in the dark.Eager to destroy the Pendragons, Nimueh resurrects the shell Sigan created--an automaton with innate magic--to be her assassin.There's just one problem: Merlin's got a will of his own.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a play on Servant of Two Masters, but with less Formarrah and more gears.

Legends spoke of a man mad with magic, whose obsession consumed him.

He invited sorcerers and scholars to his home, and in the black winters of his rule experimented with them to find eternal life. But it was to no avail, and the man died.

Time wore on, and Cornelius Sigan rotted in his tomb. But beneath the castle, forgotten by time was his triumph; a new body, immortal and undying, waiting in the dark.

 

***

 

300 years later Nimueh strode through the catacombs under Camelot. They were empty, save for the thousands of spiders sitting silently in their webs, waiting for a stray moth to flutter into their maws. 

She descended to the forgotten levels of the castle where even the guards did not go. At the end of a collapsed hallway, half buried under rubble, was an iron door bolted shut. With a flick of her fingers, Nimueh swung it open and stepped into the room.

Dolls were on display; empty eye sockets stared at her from cracked ceramic faces. Copper gears, green with age, poked out from the gaps in their plating, and their empty heart cavities--inscribed with enchanted runes--gaped at her like open mouths. All of them were masterfully made, but Nimueh didn’t have eyes for failures. 

She strode past them, the train of her dress dragging in the thick dust, and stood before the magnum opus.

It was a spindly creature with an unimpressive build that belayed the skill required to make it. Draped over its shoulders was a moth-eaten robe as black as crow feathers; Sigan’s colors.

She knelt beside it, running her fingers across its flawless face, thin with short black hair, feeling the thrum of old magic stir under her touch. Its power sent a shiver through her skin.

This would have become Sigan’s new body; a perfect machine, capable of housing a human soul, and of wielding the strongest sorcerer’s magic within its frame.

She placed her hands on the machine’s heart and closed her eyes, feeling the burn of her magic mingling with the stasis on its mechanisms, protecting it from the ravages of time. 

“Cniht, folgian attain mîn hlêoðor.” She intoned, "sl¯æpe tô of êower slêpte for ðý ðe âræfnan."

Power poured through her fingers and into the doll, restarting its clockwork. Nimueh felt the gears start to spin under her hands, clicking like a heartbeat. The doll blinked, its glass eyes a swirl of bright gold and sea glass blue.

Nimueh stood triumphant, her magic drained. The automaton looked up at her with wide innocence.

“Are you my master?” he asked in an unpracticed voice.

“Yes,” she said, “Now rise, my clockwork servant, there is work to be done.”

The doll stood, towering over the small priestess. His motions were jerky from disuse, and his raven hair was powdered white from centuries of dust. But under the gangly creature’s form was an amalgamation of power worthy of the sorcerer who created him. 

“I have a name,” he said awkwardly, metal hands fidgeting, “it’s Merlin.”

“You serve me now Merlin,” she said, “do you understand?”

The automaton blinked again, his face still a mask of mild surprise. “Yes, of course. What is my first task?” 

Nimueh ran her finger over the runes on his chest, inscribed in the Old Tongue over the gaping hole where his heart should have been, a smug smile on her lips. 

“You will obey me implicitly, whether I am present or not,” she began, “do my bidding as you were intended to, and complete the duty I will give you.” 

The machine frowned, and Nimueh could hear the gears in his head clicking faintly. He was Sigan’s puppet, not hers, and his creator’s magic clashed with her own. She tapped the metal plating on his chest, sending a new stream of magic through the runes. Merlin’s eyes dimmed to a deep blue and he nodded blankly.

“My instructions?” he asked.

At Nimueh’s command was Cornelius Sigan’s finest creation, a perfect machine forgotten by both Camelot and the history books. Her task was simple.

“You will be my eyes in Camelot,” she told him, “report to me all you see, place yourself near to my enemies, and when the time is right, kill them.”

The servant nodded. “Who are your enemies?”

Nimueh looked up at the machine, her smile twisting into a snarl. “Uther and Arthur Pendragon.”


	2. It Really Doesn't matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm far enough ahead to where this probably won't change, so enjoy.
> 
> The first part should probably be edited out for better pacing, but I can't bring myself to do it. Shame on me.

Merlin stumbled, legs tangling together like a necklace string, and he fell to the floor with a clang. 

“What do you say when you fall?” Nimueh asked. 

“Ow?”

“Good, you’re getting better,” she sighed, helping him up. 

The automaton smiled happily. Hundreds of years in the tombs did not good balance make; Merlin’s gears were so stiff he could barely walk in a straight line, much less pass as human.

“Do you think I’m ready to go outside?” he asked, eyes glancing at the ceiling longingly. “I haven’t seen the sun in… well, ever.”

Nimueh looked at him and grimaced. Merlin’s gears were in plain view from the gaps in the black robe he wore, although by now it was so coated in dust it was nearly white. He wouldn’t have fit in during a masquerade, and then there was the problem of his movements...

“You’ll need a disguise,” she said finally, “all will be in vain if you’re discovered.”

He nodded in understanding. “Don’t worry, I look very human.”

Yes, but only from the elbows down! She had to find him some new clothes fast.

 

***

Much later, when his gears were cleaned and the black robe replaced with a threadbare shirt and jacket, Nimueh led him out of the tombs, careful to keep a hand on his arm in case he tripped and alerted the guards. 

Merlin’s eyes darted back and forth, soaking in the bright Camelot colors and warm, summer air. Crowds bustled through the market, bartering their wares with one another, and soldiers stood sentry at the gates, keeping their eyes out for thieves.

“Stop ogling,” Nimueh whispered, pulling him past a tailor, “you look suspicious.”

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, “I just haven’t seen so many people before.”

“Of course not,” she said, “you’re Sigan’s most prized creation; he wouldn’t want you getting damaged or stolen.”

The ‘prized creation’ chose that moment to trip over a pile of bricks, only proving her point. Nimueh yanked him to his feet, unsurprised.

“Thanks!” he smiled at her, “I don’t know what I’d do without you Nim’.”

_ Probably smash your gearbox _ , she thought, dusting his jacket off.

“You remember the plan?” she asked, snapping her fingers to get his attention as a peddler passed by.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, “I just have to get close to the king for now. You’ll be happy if I do that, right?”

“Yes, very happy. We need to plan for the long term,” she said. Merlin’s eyes gained a darker cast of blue as he smiled down at her.

They slipped into an alley that opened up to the kitchens; servants rushed through the doors, arms full with food and laundry as the head cook hollered at them. Nimueh whispered an ancient spell, and she and Merlin went through unseen. Once past the chaos, she took him to the adjacent room, where a little man was scribbling in a thick book.

She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “Onstellan mîn handðegn weargbr¯æde lêof.”

The man blinked, turned the page to a column of names, and added Merlin’s to it. Too easy.

“Merlin,” she said. He snapped to attention, “you’re now part of the castle’s serving staff. Do what they say, but remember, you are loyal to me.”

“Yes, Nimueh, of course I am,” he said as the man continued writing, oblivious to them. “You’re my hero.”

His eyes filled with warmth, and for a second Nimueh thought she saw a flash of gold in them. But the dark, ocean blue swallowed it up too fast for her to be sure. 

“I’m your master, not a hero,” she snorted, perturbed by its misunderstanding.

“No, you woke me up and gave me a purpose,” he said, “you saved me.”

Nimueh wanted to study his growing personality, but she felt her don’t-notice spell begin to dissipate. There wasn’t much time before they would be spotted.

“Whatever, just do as you’re told, and be patient,” she told the automaton, filing his comments for later, “focus on integrating yourself with the servants, and don’t act against the king until I order you to. We can’t risk failure. If you’re caught...”

Merlin shuddered; she’d told him stories about Uther, and there was no question what he would do if he found a magic automaton wandering his halls. 

“I’ll be careful,” Merlin said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Its neckline frayed, and a hint of silver glinted from underneath the thin fabric.

Nimueh quickly grabbed an old rag from the table and wound it around his neck like a scarf, hiding the gears. “There, keep that on.”

He ran a finger over it. “What is it?”

“Yours, now make yourself useful,” she said, waving him off. “I have to go--business with the druids. But I’ll be back in two weeks; report to me then.”

She spun on her heel and departed as her spell collapsed. Servants eyed her curiously as she passed, an unfamiliar face. Behind her, she heard the little man jump when he saw Merlin.

“Who’re you?” he spluttered.

“Uh, Merlin, remember?” he said, voice muffling as Nimueh left earshot. “You hired me last week…”

“What?” He turned the pages of the book, finding the employee log. “Well...What’re you doing lazing about, get back to work!”

“Right. Where do I start?”

Nimueh waltzed out of Camelot, a satisfied smile on her face. Her assassin was in place, and should her other plans fail, he would make a useful backup. But before that, she had a few poisons to pick up, and some potions to brew.

 

***

 

Merlin stumbled forward, juggling a monstrous load of laundry in his arms as he tried to walk. It was hard for him to do the complicated actions his human counterparts did so easily, but hopefully, with enough practice, he could be as elegant as them. Or maybe his gears just had to settle; they were still jerky from three hundred years of disuse. 

He supposed that Sigan’s plan had failed. Two halves were needed for his immortality scheme to work. Even the greatest sorcerer couldn’t seem to conquer death, but Merlin gave him credit for trying. 

For his part, Merlin would rather figure out this ‘living’ business than worry about dying. Not that he couldn’t die, but it was proving harder to fit in with the other servants than he’d expected. For one thing, he was clumsy, but he was also still getting his bearings of the castle, and frequently got lost. At least he wasn’t threatening, and the disguise was working. He’d hate to be caught before he could make Nimueh happy. 

He hadn’t thought killing a king would be his first task after waking up, but Nimueh was very insistent. Uther was bad, and he liked burning people up. If it meant protecting sorcerers from the pyre, then she was ready to take extreme measures. Merlin didn’t exactly relish the thought of putting poison in Uther’s cup, but he couldn’t disobey Nimueh. She was his master now, so he had to listen to her. Besides, his feelings didn’t matter. He was only a vessel of Sigan’s soul; he’d just be overwritten later. 

Merlin banged his elbow into the corner and fell. The laundry scattered everywhere, and he lay there--shocked--until he remembered what he was supposed to do.

“Ow?” he said, rubbing his head. He hoped it looked convincing. 

“Are you alright? Here, let me help,” someone said, stooping beside him.

She already had a small pile of laundry refolded by the time he got up.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to!” he said, quickly grabbing the other towels off the floor. 

“Really, it’s my pleasure.” The girl was a bit older than him and had lovely brown skin and curly hair that reminded him of copper springs (only darker). She was smiling, eyes crinkled amusedly as she watched him flounder. “I’m Guinevere--but just call me Gwen.”

“Merlin,” he said, grinning back, “Thanks.”

“I haven’t seen you around,” she said, putting the last towel on the stack. “Are you new here?”

“Just started,” he admitted, “I don’t know half of what I’m supposed to do.”

“You’ll get used to it, don’t worry,” she said, patting his arm, “if you need any help, just look for me, alright?”

“‘Course, thank you, Gwen,” he said, lifting the towels back up. “...I don’t suppose you know where these go?”

She pursed her lips, trying and failing to hide a quick smile. “You didn’t ask?”

“I did, I just got lost,” he said, “The castle’s so big.”

He reminded Gwen of when she’d first started out, although she’d been much younger. Confused, looking wide-eyed in every direction. She wasn’t too busy…

“Here, I’ll show you,” she said.

Merlin trotted after her, keeping a suspicious eye on the laundry in case it decided to make another leap for freedom. Gwen walked him halfway across the castle in the opposite direction; had he really been  _ that _ out of water?   
“How do you remember where everything goes?” he asked.

“Practice, I suppose. I’m used to it though; Camelot’s a big place.” Gwen said. 

“Yeah…”

“Are you from here?” she asked.

“No,” Merlin lied, remembering what Nimueh told him to say. “I’m from Ealdor--a little town in Essitir. The biggest thing there is the cowshed.”

Gwen seemed convinced, mostly by Merlin’s enchantment with the city. He had that wide-eyed look that travelers got when they visited. 

They were passing the training ground when a loud whoop caught Merlin’s ear. A small crowd of knights was dueling, and the winner was cheering with his friends. All Merlin could see was that he was big and had a head of golden hair. 

“He shouldn’t be doing that,” Gwen muttered. 

“What?” Merlin asked.

Gwen nodded towards the field. The yellow-haired man slapped someone on the back and nodded towards a servant to lift up a heavy target. The man threw an ax at it--got a bullseye--and the servant yelped. 

Merlin frowned. “That’s not nice.”

“No, it isn’t,” she said, “just keep your head down Merlin, you don’t want to get on his bad--”

“I’ll tell him to stop,” Merlin decided. 

“What? Merlin, wait!” 

But he’d already shoved the towels into her hands and vaulted over the small wall. Merlin didn’t like bullies. It was bad enough Uther Pendragon was burning innocent sorcerers; Camelot didn’t need a bunch of self-important knights harassing servants. 

He wasn’t very strong (Sigan hadn’t designed him to be especially sturdy) but he was a magical invention with plenty of firepower. He wasn’t afraid of some petty humans. 

Although...Nimueh had said not to use magic. 

Well, that was okay. What could possibly go wrong?

 

***

 

“Honestly Merlin, you’re lucky he didn’t hurt you,” Gwen said, helping him wipe the rest of the vegetables off his face. “I thought that mace was going to take your head off.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, “just a bit marinated.”

Three hours in the stocks did that to a person.

“Marinated and cold; your skin is freezing,” she muttered. “Should I take you to see Gaius?”

“Gaius?” he echoed.

“The court physician. He could examine you.”

Merlin thought about what would happen if he had to take his shirt off, or even just his neckerchief.

“Nah, I’m good,” he said. Gwen frowned. “If I get sick I promise I’ll see him, but I think I just need a blanket.”

“Alright,” she sighed. “I still can’t believe you insulted Prince Arthur.”

“I didn’t know it was him,” he said. If he had, he might’ve been a bit meaner. Or just grabbed one of the knives...no, he had to be patient for Nimueh. No assassinations just yet. “Well, he probably won’t remember me. It’s not like I’ll see him a lot anyway.”

“I hope not. You’ve had quite the first day in Camelot.” She helped him stand. “Come on, let’s get you back to work. Cook is going to be furious that you missed most of the day.”

Merlin groaned. He didn’t like this one bit; maybe he could ask Nimueh if he could go back to the crypt?

 

***

 

To Merlin’s displeasure, he saw prince Arthur quite a lot. The prince was just about as thrilled by this as he was and made no effort to hide it. 

He couldn’t stand the prat, and it caused him mental anguish to put up with his orders.  _ Nimueh _ was his master, not this spoiled prince. Servants interacted with royalty, but only as yesmen. But for the life of him, Merlin just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“I’m not even going out of my way to run into him!” he grumbled to Gwen as they did laundry. “But he makes it sound like I’m a stalker or halfwit! It makes me so angry…”

“Just calm down Merlin,” Gwen said, patting his arm with a wet hand, “there isn’t anything you can do about it. Prince Arthur isn’t so bad, really, unless he’s offended.”

Merlin wrung a shirt out, pretending it was the prince’s neck. “I think he’s pretty offended.”

“Well, you did call him some very nasty names,” Gwen said.

“I wouldn’t have to if that clotpole had some decency…” he grumbled. 

Sensing that he would go on forever, Gwen hung the last garment to dry and picked up the basket of clean clothes. 

“I have to run an errand for Lady Morgana, so I’ll see you later, alright?”

Merlin nodded and waved goodbye. Gwen blinked; she could have sworn there was a flash of gold near his elbow… No, her imagination, that was all. 

 

***

 

Merlin continued ranting about Arthur to Nimueh that night. She’d set up a secret lair in the bowels of the castle, in the room with all the unfinished automatons. A small, black cauldron was bubbling on the floor, spewing thick steam like chimney smoke.

“--and he made me do extra chores, and fetch some gloves, and then he called me a--”

“Merlin,” Nimueh interrupted, adding some herbs to the pot, “I don’t care.”

Merlin clamped his mouth shut, embarrassed by his outburst. “Sorry…”

“Tell me, have you gotten used to your work? Do the staff suspect you?” Nimueh asked.

“Oh, they don’t suspect a thing. And I made a friend--Guinevere, she’s lady Morgana’s maidservant, and she’s really nice--she’s showing me all around the castle. Did you know in the armory there’s--”

“Fascinating,” Nimueh interrupted, dipped a ladle into the cauldron and skimmed off the sludge. Only a thin, yellowish liquid remained. 

“I have noticed some weird folk hanging around the grounds though, all wrapped up and secretive. The guards have had to scare them off a lot. Do you think they’re druids?”

Nimueh frowned. As far as she knew, nobody was organizing any attacks on Camelot. 

“Well, it probably doesn’t matter. What’s that stuff you’re making?” he asked. 

Nimueh corked the vial and held it up to the lamplight. “A gift for Uther Pendragon. You’ll slip it into his goblet at the feast--you are serving, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Merlin frowned, “but do I have to?”

Nimueh looked at him, dark eyes unfathomable. Merlin fiddled with his shirt sleeve, looking like a child who did something bad. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to help you,” he said, “but I don’t think murder is right…”

“Uther Pendragon kills druids and sorcerers by the score.” she retorted, “Do you think he minds?”

Merlin flinched, remembering the few times he’d spied the cold, intimidating king. “No.” 

“And he’ll keep doing it until somebody stops him,” she continued, “this is for the good of Camelot, and all magic users. Your little morals don’t matter.”

Nimueh handed Merlin the vial. The clockwork man held it like it would burn him.

“What about Arthur?” he asked. “Do I have to kill him too?”

“No,” she smiled, giving the cauldron an extra stir. “Not yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is always too sweet in my stories. It's a weakness of mine.
> 
> *notes on his appearance:  
> Since I'm not going to go into glorious purple-prose, here's a rundown on what Merlin basically looks like.  
> -he has a ceramic face, neck, and arms (up to the elbow). They are enchanted to mimic human skin and move like flesh. Very high-level magic; Sigan spared no expense. (the spell is passive and runs on his internal magic).  
> -there is a hole where his heart should be, inscribed with mystic runes. It's about the size of a large fist.  
> -he is made of copper, gold, and silver alloys with minimal plating. It makes him relatively fragile 9although still a pain to destroy) but the idea is that he's easy to repair/tune.   
> -without Nimueh's enchantment, his eyes are sea glass blue/green (AKA, hazel blue). when deactivated, they are his usual blue (his magic mixes gold into the iris). 
> 
> That's all the details; hopefully, they're not too much. The details will turn up throughout the chapters, but hopefully, this will give a good sense for what our lil' automaton looks like.


	3. Heartless

Merlin left the catacombs shortly after, the vial of poison safe in his jacket pocket. Once he was out of the forbidden section he leaned against the stone wall, turning the bottle over in his fingers and listening to it clink against his ceramic skin.

Nimueh’s command echoed in his head like a bell. There was no yes or no in this, her orders were clear. Merlin could even feel her magic compel him to obey, just as a servant should. But what was this feeling inside him? It was like a worm in an apple, eating away at his loyalty to Nimueh. That part of him insisted killing was wrong, no matter who the target was. But that conscience didn’t belong inside a machine; morals had nothing to do with him… didn’t they?

Merlin sighed and put the poison back into his pocket. He just had to ignore the weird sensation inside him; by tomorrow Uther would be dead, and the bad feeling would go away. Simple. 

He dusted himself off, turned the corner, and bumped straight into Arthur Pendragon. 

Luckily for Merlin, he didn’t fall on his face, but unfortunately for the prince, an automaton wasn’t the softest thing to run into. Arthur fell back against his fellow knights, momentarily stunned by the impact. 

“Sorry sire,” Merlin said, blinking owlishly at the bright torches. “Are you alright?”

“Of course not, idiot,” the prince said, righting himself, “watch where you’re going!”

Merlin pursed his lips, holding back a snarky insult. 

“What are you even doing down here?” Arthur continued, glaring at the servant. 

“Taking a walk,” Merlin said immediately. “It, uh, helps me fall asleep.”

One of the guards raised an eyebrow. Merlin resisted the urge to shrug; what did they want him to say?

Arthur put a hand to his head and sighed. “You’re telling me that you’re taking a walk through the bowels of the castle  _ which are crawling with guards _ because you’re an insomniac?”

“There are guards down here?” Merlin blurted, “really?”

The look Arthur gave him could only be described as pitying. 

“The next time I find you lurking about after curfew I’ll put you in the stocks,” he said, dropping his hand to his sword. “So don’t come down here again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Clear as dishwater,” Merlin said, strolling past the prince, “see you tomorrow!”

“Gods, I hope not,” the prince grumbled, then turned to his companions. “Inform the guards that an addle-brained bumpkin has been wandering through the vaults unmolested. They’ll be on night duty for another month. Honestly, I’m appalled. Imagine if he was an assassin; Camelot would fall!”

_ How rude _ , Merlin thought as he rounded the corner, the poison burning a figurative hole in his pocket.

 

***

 

Merlin hadn’t actually lied about his inability to sleep easily. As an automaton, he only needed to restart his clockwork once a week or so--mostly to ensure nothing was jammed--so he spent the night cloistered in various corners of the castle, turning the vial over in his hands and indulging in the occasional spell. He listened to guards complain about their shifts and watched the bakers get up well before the sun to put bread in the oven. What was it like to sleep? Humans looked so strange doing it, all still and dead-like. He’d caught Nimueh napping once and worried she’d shut down permanently. It couldn’t be easy to spend so much time unconscious; she and other people missed so much of life by dozing. 

And yet, Merlin wondered what it would be like to dream. 

His task was almost upon him; only one afternoon to go before Uther was dead, and he had to move onto the next phase of the plan. Merlin curtailed that thought; he didn’t want to think about it. 

Dawn came and he reported to the kitchens. He spent the morning helping prepare for the feast--a celebration of twenty years spent killing sorcerers. When he caught a break, he collapsed on one of the castle walls, sighing from mental exhaustion. 

“Merlin?” Someone said.

He turned; Gwen had come up behind him, her arms full with a basket of clean laundry. Her hair was coming undone from its bun and was frazzled a bit from the heat. 

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked, setting the basket down. “You look glum.”

_ Hard not to when I have to kill a man _ , he thought grumpily. “I’m okay, just tired.”

“It’s a busy day,” she said, leaning on the railing beside him, “I hear there are three pigs being roasted down in the kitchens. It must be boiling!”

“Yeah…” not that he could feel the heat.

Gwen frowned, concerned by his unenthusiastic answer. Merlin was usually a ball of positivity, there was hardly anything that got him down, but maybe…

“I hear it’s your first time serving nobles. Are you nervous about the feast?” she asked gently. 

Merlin shifted guiltily. 

“I knew it!” she said, relaxing into a smile. Merlin watched her tensely. Gwen put her arm on his shoulder. “Everybody gets nervous the first time they do something. Don’t worry Merlin, you’ll do great. Just focus on your duties.”

“what?--oh, right,” he said, distractedly, feeling the weight of the vial in his pocket.

“I remember when I first became Morgana’s maid--I was terrified!” Gwen continued, “But really, starting out was the hardest part. Just take it one moment at a time, alright?”

“Okay, sure,” he said, fiddling with his neckerchief. “But… Gwen, what if I don’t  _ want _ to do my job?--I mean,” he added, when she raised an eyebrow, “I probably shouldn’t even be here. This isn’t what was supposed to happen to me... I don’t even know what I should do anymore!”

Merlin bit his lip, staring anxiously at Gwen. Her face softened.

“Merlin, you’re a servant,” she said gently, “and you’re good at what you do, so don’t second guess yourself. Whatever your task is, I know you can do it. Don’t let your feelings undermine your purpose.”

He swallowed his objection and looked down at his toes. Gwen patted his arm and picked up her basket.

“I’ll leave you alone for now, but I’ll see you at the feast, alright?” she smiled.

Merlin nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“Hey,” she said, “I believe in you, so do your best, okay?”

“Okay,” he managed.

Gwen grinned and took her laundry away. Merlin stayed rooted to his spot, even after she was gone. 

Gwen was right, he was letting his emotions run away with him. Nimueh had already told him to put his feelings aside for the greater good, but here he was obsessing over morality again. This was his one chance to save Camelot from its despot; he couldn’t miss it. 

_ I’ll do it for Nimueh _ , he thought, dampening the guilt churning in his insides. 

 

***

 

The feast was an endless stream of people clamoring for food. Merlin ran back and forth from the kitchens, carrying big, expensive platters full of food to the guests. He may have stumbled occasionally, but at least he never felt tempted to snag a portion for himself like the other servants; his only worry was tripping over his feet.

He watched the king’s goblet like a hawk, trying to time his approach with when he needed a refill. But other servers always beat him to it, and there never seemed to be a good time to pull out his vial.  

Halfway through the dinner, Merlin saw a couple of people lurking in the corners, holding pitchers. Even though he was new, Merlin had a pretty fair recollection of the servant staff, and none of these men looked familiar. Their clothing was also a little too fine and lacked Camelot’s colors. Odd, given that it was an official feast. 

“Hey, George,” Merlin whispered, sidling up to one of the other servants, “do you know them?”

George--all square jaw and piercing eyes--narrowed his eyes at the strangers and pursed his lips. “No,” he said slowly, “not in my life.”

“Me neither,” Merlin said, “I don’t think they’re servants.”

“I’ll inform the guards,” George said immediately, handing his pitcher to Merlin, “keep an eye on them.”

“Right,” Merlin nodded seriously.

George silently flitted away, the epitome of bland servitude. Merlin stared at the strangers, who were murmuring in a corner to one another, with concern. They reminded him of those people who’d been spotted on the training grounds recently. The way they held themselves, and their frames, had an eerie similarity. Whatever they were planning couldn’t be good. Surely they weren’t going to ruin Camelot’s feast? After all, that was his job.

A passing servant nudged him and nodded towards the banquet table. Merlin spun, and there was Uther Pendragon, signaling for a refill. 

_ My chance! _

He hastily poured the vial into the pitcher and headed towards the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the men split up. What was taking George so long? 

Merlin’s grip tightened around the pitcher as he stepped up to Uther’s seat. Up close, the king looked even more terrifying. He had a hard, uncaring face and burning eyes--eyes that seemed to search each face for malice. Merlin suppressed a shudder as he took Uther’s glass and began pouring the poison into it. The wine swirled inside the goblet like blood, and that queasy, anxious feeling fluttered in Merlin’s heart as he placed it back onto the table. 

At that moment, the mysterious strangers attacked. 

With a holler, the biggest one rushed forward, a crossbow in his hands, and fired at Arthur. 

“Look out!” Merlin shouted, and before he knew what he was doing, grabbed a serving platter and threw himself in front of the prince. The crossbow bolt smashed into it, ringing like a brass bell. 

The hall was stunned for a moment before the other attackers drew their knives and ran at the king. Uther rose and drew his sword, blocking the first attack as Arthur engaged the other man. 

Merlin swore under his breath and blocked another crossbow bolt. What was he doing, protecting the prince!? 

Arthur was pushed into the table. Nimueh’s poison--along with the rest of the wine--splashed onto the floor like blood. Merlin hoped the sorceress wouldn’t know how relieved that made him when he told her later. 

The guards rammed their swords into the attackers’ backs and tackled the crossbowman to the floor. He wrestled with them for a moment before a well-placed punch knocked his lights out. Merlin warily lowered the platter, locked eyes with a shocked George, and shrugged.

Uther strode up to the remaining assassin and glared hatefully at the man. The would-be-killer hung unconscious from the guards’ hands. 

“Send him to the dungeons,” Uther commanded, nodding towards the door, “and call for Gaius. My son is injured.”

Merlin whirled to look at Arthur, who was sheathing his sword.

“I’m fine father, it’s just a scratch,” the prince replied, shaking out his arm. A small nick stood out where his chainmail had been cut. He noticed Merlin staring at him and turned to face him, a look of surprise on his face. 

“You saved my life,” he said incredulously.

“Sorry sire, it won’t happen again,” Merlin grumbled. Here had been the perfect opportunity to let both Pendragons die, and he’d wasted it! Nimueh was going to be absolutely furious.

“I should hope not,” Uther said, striding up to Merlin, “today shall be the last day my court is attacked. Arthur, triple the guard in the lower town and perform searches on travelers. As for you,” he narrowed his eyes at Merlin, “good deeds deserve repayment. Tell me your reward..”

He could hardly ask for both of them to drop dead, so Merlin muttered “Nothing sire.”

Uther raised an eyebrow, nonplussed. “Really? Then for saving my son’s life, you will be appointed as his personal manservant.”

Merlin gulped and looked at the prince. He was sure their faces were identically disgusted.

“It’ll be my honor,” he said monotonically, bowing his head at the prince. 

“...I’m sure,” Arthur replied slowly, glancing irritatedly at his father.

Merlin backed away from the feast table, head reeling. Uther and Arthur began discussing defense strategies and what was to be done with the assassin. George and the servants went to clean up the spilled wine, and the other guests were whispering among themselves. 

When Merlin got to the doors, he bolted out of them and sped down to the catacombs. But he couldn’t go to Nimueh--she’d grind his gears to dust! 

The clockwork servant collapsed in an alcove and put his head in his hands. Nimueh had given him one simple job… How had he messed it up so badly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's face it, everything would've gone according to plan if Nimueh had gotten George instead of Merlin.


	4. The Clockwork Servant

Positive thinking was one of Nimueh’s strong suits, but even she was having trouble right now. She’d waited twenty years to get her revenge, and now it’d been wasted by a befuddled automaton in the heat of the moment.

“YOU IDIOT!” she seethed, ready to tear her hair out. “Why did you intervene?”

“I don’t know!” Merlin insisted, twisting his shirt hem with his hands, “I didn’t mean to Nim, I promise!”

Nimueh bit back a scream and kicked one of the incomplete automatons. Its head spun across the floor and crunched against one of the walls. 

“You!” she turned to Merlin, who was staring at the head in horror, “you had one job. One!”

Merlin inched forward, the picture of regret.

“Look, I’m sorry about the feast, I’ll do better next time, I promise.” He said, wringing his hands. “I didn’t mean for the wine to get knocked over, and it wasn’t my fault that those men came to kill the king.”

Nimueh sat on the work table she’d commandeered--which was now littered with wire, gears, and potion ingredients--and ground her teeth together, silently seething as her head began to throb.

“I know… you did your best,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I’m just a little frustrated. All that work--and the elixir of death I prepared--has been wasted. We’ll have to start over.”

Merlin flinched in sympathy. Nimueh had worked for weeks on that potion, and there wasn’t any left. She was probably really discouraged. 

He tottered over to her and folded her into a hug, hoping that it made her feel better like Gwen said they did. 

“It’s okay,” he said, “I believe in you Nim. If you could wake me up from a centuries-long sleep, I’m sure you can kill a mean, old king. Don’t be sad.”

“Thanks?” she mumbled, confused by the hug.

“Look on the bright side,” Merlin continued, “nobody will think I’m an assassin now, and we’ll have a lot more chances to kill the Pendragons! Uther made me the prince’s manservant as a reward, so--”

“He what?” Nimueh shouted, breaking out of the hug. 

“He, uh,” Merlin blinked, “he was happy I saved Arthur’s life, so he rewarded me?”

It took Nimueh a moment to properly savor what she’d just heard. Her headache flew away; it was light a skylight had opened above her, complete with a symphony of birds overhead. 

“Nim, are you alright?” Merlin asked, daring to put a hand on her shoulder.

Nimueh brushed his cold hand away and smiled. 

“Of course Merlin,” she said sweetly, “and why didn’t you tell me you got rewarded? This changes everything. I’m so proud of you.”

“Really?” Merlin beamed, “You mean that?”

“Of course,” she replied, a thousand ideas running through her mind, “you’re a very good servant. Now, get going. We have work to do…”

 

***

 

Arthur awoke to the most infuriating whistling he’d ever heard. It sounded like a badly played, rusty flute. He lay in bed, stunned by the atrociousness until it reached an unbearably high pitch.

“Will you stop that racket!?” he demanded, throwing a pillow at his new manservant. 

Merlin stumbled back and pulled the offending pillow off his face. He bit back a comment about annoying princes and tried to smile. Nimueh told him he had to behave, so behave he would. Even if Prince Arthur was being a prat.

“Good morning your highness!” he said cheerily, “how are you feeling?”

“Sickened,” he said, “you’re forbidden from any musical activity henceforth, understand? Ugh, I can’t believe  _ that _ ’ _ s _ what I had to wake up to.”

He stormed out of bed, and Merlin hurried to get him dressed. 

“I don’t think we were properly introduced,” he began, helping put a shirt on Arthur, “I’m Merlin, in case you forgot.”

“How could I?” he grumbled, “you’re the castle idiot. And your hands are freezing.”

Merlin winced; he hadn’t noticed. he’d start warming them in the fire before Arthur woke up so he’d appear more human. The enchantments made him look alive in some places but did nothing for temperature. 

“I have my training with the knights today,” Arthur continued obliviously, “and then patrols through the lower town, a meeting with the council, and dinner with my father. You’ll prepare me for each of these events  _ perfectly _ , do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sire,” he muttered. 

Arthur smirked, and nodded towards the desk. “Good. The rest of your chores are over there.”

Merlin unrolled a scroll of parchment, eyes widening at the sheer size of the list.

“All this?” he nearly gasped.

“What, is it too much? I’m sure I can find you a more suitable position in the castle staff then,” Arthur said evilly.

Merlin pursed his lips; if only he could, but Nimueh needed him to stay by Arthur’s side. He’d have to put up with this a while longer.

“No sire,” he said through gritted teeth, “I can manage this.”

“Excellent, see that you do,” Arthur said over his shoulder as he headed for the door. “Now, hurry up  _ Mer _ lin, we have places to be!”

“Yes yes, of course,” he grumbled, following the prince.

“And Merlin?”

“What?”

“You’re forgetting my armor. Go fetch!”

 

***

 

A maniacal stubbornness consumed Merlin. He’d show that no good, arrogant princeling what he was capable of, just he watch! While Arthur practiced with his knights, Merlin furiously polished as much armor as he could, and ran weapons back and forth for the prince. At lunch he dropped a plate of pickled eggs ( _ just _ pickled eggs) in front of the future king and ran off to do laundry, an irate Arthur chasing after him. 

Gwen looked concerned by the end of the day when he was still going full force.

“Calm down Merlin,” she said, “you’re going to wear yourself out.”

“I’ve never felt better!” he insisted, clumsily juggling a mop and bucket. “Arthur isn’t going to get rid of me that easily. I’ll show him!

“Merlin…” Gwen sighed. He was going about this all wrong. If he really didn’t like Arthur, all he had to do was get fired, and both of them would be happy. 

“--won’t see me coming, and that’ll be the end of  _ him _ , for sure!” Merlin finished under his breath, unaware that he’d just alluded to assassinating the prince in front her. 

Gwen just shook her head, used to Merlin’s gripes.

“Just be careful, alright?” she said, looking worriedly at the tools he was struggling to carry. “You’ve been going at a gallop all day. You’re going to regret it tomorrow. Try to take things slower.”

“I’m not--” Merlin blinked. Oh, that was right, he wasn’t human. Whoops. “--uh, of course, Gwen, I’ll do that. I’m sure that after this long, hard day of work I’ll be so exhausted that I’ll sleep like a guard on duty.”

“Like a rock Merlin,” she corrected, “guards don’t sleep while they’re on watch.”

“Then you haven’t seen the ones downstairs. They never  _ wake up _ ,” he muttered, waving goodbye.

  
  


***

 

“What are you still doing here?” Arthur asked his manservant, several days later.

Merlin looked up from his spot on the floor, where he was covered in stray shirts and trousers.

“Fixing your clothes like you wanted, what does it look like?” he said challengingly. 

Arthur raised an eyebrow and stepped over a mountain of undershirts. He  _ had _ asked for a few tears to be repaired, but Merlin didn’t have to pull out every scrap of clothing he owned to do that. Honestly, this peasant was throwing him through more loops than most visiting nobles did in their entire stay. What went on in that head of his?

“It’s nighttime,” he said, instead of correcting the servant’s inefficiency, “I’m tired. Get out so I can sleep.”

“Oh, so now you want all your shirts to be full of holes?” he grumbled, wadding up a ceremonial tunic and chucking it into the wardrobe. “You could have told me that before I got started.”

“Hey, behave yourself!” Arthur snapped as his boots were flung into the cabinet as well.

“I know, I know, this is a great honor and all that,” Merlin said, forcing it shut. “But unless you want to watch me refolding clothes for an hour this will have to do. I’ll fix it in the morning.”

Arthur felt his temper rise at this boy’s insolence. He tapped his fingers against his sword, searching for a reply as sharp as its edge. 

“Merlin--” he began.

“Later Arthur,” the servant yawned, his teeth so clean they almost glinted in the candlelight, “I’m busy. Have fun sleeping while I do the rest of your chores.”

Merlin stumbled out of the room too fast for him to grab him, and Arthur heard a loud clang in the hallway; the idiot probably ran into one of the suits of armor. 

Arthur scowled, already imagining how he’d look tomorrow, dressed in those crumpled shirts. He had to teach that servant a lesson. 

 

***

 

Merlin dazedly stumbled backward, his world spinning. He leaned against the wall he’d just ran into, trying to get his bearings. 

When nobody came running to see what the commotion was, he decided it was safe to leave, and tried to ignore the vibrations running through him. 

A small, rational part of his mind pointed out that snarcking off to the prince wasn’t very smart if he wanted to keep his job. The bigger, pettier part of him dismissed the feeling as silly. What was Arthur going to do, beat him up for being snarky?

 

***

 

“Pick it up,” Arthur said the next morning.

“What?” he asked, staring at the practice sword that had just been thrown at his feet.

“Pick it up,” Arthur said again, “I need some practice.”

“Don’t you have knights for this?” Merlin replied, fumbling with the metal stick. 

“They’re busy,” he said smoothly, “come on, get up.”

The Knights certainly weren’t busy, but Merlin could hardly say that. Arthur was smiling, but his eyes definitely weren’t. 

“Is this revenge for something I did?” he sighed, squirming into some practice gear. 

“Of course not,  _ Mer _ lin,” the prince replied, flipping his sword in a circle, “what could you have  _ possibly _ done to get on my bad side?”

_ Stupid, petty Pendragon _ , he grumbled, raising his sword.

As soon as his shield was up Arthur whaled on him. Merlin stumbled back, barely managing to keep his footing on the wet grass. Arthur came at him again, and it was all he could do not to fall to his knees from the force of his strikes. He realized two things; one was that Arthur was an amazing swordsman (hardly a revelation) and second… if the prince landed a good blow on him, he’d figure out pretty quickly that Merlin was made of metal. Not good.

He jumped backward, avoiding a horizontal swing, and promptly tripped over his own two feet. Arthur whacked his shield one more time and shook his head.

“Not bad, usually people go down after the first blow,” he said, “Come on, get up.”

Merlin glared at the prince as he pulled himself out of the mud.

 

***

 

“Nimueh, it’s not fair!” Merlin moaned, “I can’t stand him. He’s such a prat, why can’t killing him be easier?”

He was joking, of course. Arthur deserved a few good slaps, not poison or a dagger. But after a day of getting his gears thrashed, he wasn’t feeling all that generous.

“Patience Merlin, he’ll be taken care of soon,” Nimueh said absently, opening the plating on his arm to look at the mechanical issues. His right hand jerked compulsively, the delicate gears and wires--arranged to mimic muscle and bone,--thrown off balance. Truly genius. 

“I’m sick of him insulting me,” the automaton grumbled, “and getting ripped to pieces by that maniac’s practice sword. I’m lucky he hasn’t broken me completely with that monster strength of his!”

Nimueh was also sick of fixing the servant every night. It was becoming an annoyance. She slammed one of the jammed gears back into place. Merlin spasmed for a second, and then his mechanisms restarted.

“Well then, if you’re so impatient to get the job done, go ahead,” she said, dusting off her hands, “slip some nightshade into his glass, or have an ‘accident’ take care of him on the training grounds.”

“I’ve tried,” he whined, “but nothing works. I always trip or spill the wine. He thinks I’m an idiot.” 

“I wonder why?” Nimueh grumbled, rearranging a few more wires in his arm. “It’s not as if he’s difficult to kill.”

Merlin twitched guiltily. Some of his plans probably would’ve worked if he’d put more effort into them. But… how to put it, even on his worst day Arthur didn’t seem that bad. If he got over himself a bit and learned to listen to other people he’d make a decent king. Or, at the very least, a better one than Uther. 

“Does Arthur really need to die?” he asked. 

Nimueh looked up and glared at him.

“I mean--” he gulped, “why can’t we just kill Uther? Arthur hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Nimueh snorted and yanked a copper wire out of his arm. Merlin yelped and Nimueh held it up to the light; the coil had corroded from magic leakage and had to be replaced. 

“The young Pendragon will undoubtedly seek revenge on magic users for his father’s death,” Nimueh said, “and he’s already proved willing to kill druids when it suits him. You honestly didn’t wonder who leads the raids on their camps, did you, Merlin?”

He looked down at his feet, avoiding her eyes. He… hadn’t thought of that. Arthur didn’t seem like somebody who would do that--even if it was on orders it was  _ wrong _ ! There would be children… innocents. 

“He’s his father’s son, of that there is no doubt,” the High Priestess spat, “the gauntlet has already been thrown Merlin; I’m only getting my due.”

Merlin nodded, clenching and unclenching his good hand. He could hear his ‘heart’ clicking and whirring in his chest, emotionless and constant. It never slowed down or changed its beat. If only his emotional insides were the same.

“Once the war on magic begins, it’ll be up to us to overthrow Camelot,” Nimueh continued, putting the finishing touches on his arm, “and you’ll be invaluable with that magic of yours.”

Her gaze flickered to his chest cavity, where the rune-inscribed chamber was left empty. Merlin nodded in understanding, then frowned.

“But I thought we were going to kill Uther sneakily so that nobody would blame the druids?” he said.

“Plans change,” Nimueh smirked. “And if you haven’t made any progress with your task by the time I return, I’ll move forward with my agenda. There’s more than one way to skin a cat, after all.”

“R-Right,’ Merlin muttered, perturbed by the whole conversation, “I guess I’d better get going then… you know, to do something sinister like a proper minion.”

The glare Nimueh sent him made Merlin sit back down faster than blinking.

“You’re staying right here until I’m finished with you,” she snapped, opening another toolkit, “Honestly Merlin, you’re barely better than scrap metal right now. That Pendragon must have something personal against you.  _ Why _ didn’t Sigan make you sturdier?”

She removed his shirt and began tinkering with his shoulders; Arthur had hit him so hard, Merlin was surprised they hadn’t been torn out of their sockets.

He sighed and prepared for a long night sitting and doing nothing. Usually, he found something to amuse himself while the humans slept, but this… well, all he had were his thoughts, and in between Nimueh’s suggested assassinations and the image of Arthur leading a raiding party on peaceful druids, his mind was an unpleasant place to be.


	5. There's Something About You...

By morning Nimueh had gone and Merlin was shiny and new. She was getting so good at repairing him it was almost scary--but that’s what happened when he came home dented and broken every night. Arthur liked ‘sparring’ with him  _ way _ too much. Merlin was beginning to suspect it was more therapeutic for the prince than anything else; he probably just wanted to wallop him every now and then.

HIs refurbishment put him in a good mood, and he was able to put his discovery about Arthur’s druid raids in the back of his mind. Come rain or snow he was going to be cheerful, and even that boorish prince wasn’t going to bring him down.

“Rise and shine!” he sang, throwing the curtains open.

Arthur looked up weakly from his bed and groaned. “You…”

“It’s a brand new day sire,” Merlin said, hopping up and down, “doesn’t it make you excited?”

“No!” he mumbled through his pillow. 

“Come on sleepy head,” Merlin said, yanking the blankets off him. Arthur curled up, shuddering from the cold. “Those knights aren’t going to beat themselves up!”

“Neither are you,” he growled, stumbling out of bed. “Why is it so early?”

“Because you promised to train with Sir Leon early--something about a new technique. If I can get here in time, you can get there on time.”

“Where’s breakfast?” he asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Merlin threw a shirt at him and dragged him over to the table. Arthur looked down at the plate and glared at him contemptuously.

“Merlin, how many times must I tell you,” he said, temper rising, “A man cannot live by pickled eggs alone! Where is the rest of it--the fruits, the bread?”

Merlin cocked his head, looking mildly confused, like he didn’t know what was wrong with only eating eggs for every meal. This was getting to be a recurring problem.

“... I heard they were your favorite,” he said slowly, as if Arthur were the crazy one.

“Once in a while, not for every meal!” Arthur snapped, shoving the plate back at Merlin. “Nobody likes eating the same thing--and  _ only _ the same thing--over and over. Get me something else.”

“Fine, I see how it is,” he grumbled, heading to the door with a sulky face. Then muttered more quietly, “change the meals, got it.”

“If you need to make a list, go ahead,” Arthur drawled, “honestly, you’re the strangest person I’ve ever met. Pickled eggs, honestly!”

Merlin grimaced. Think happy thoughts, happy thoughts. Nothing was going to bring him down today, not even Arthur. He was going to have a good mood, even if it killed him.

 

***

 

“So, he’s dead?” Arthur confirmed.

“Died in his cell last night,” Uther said during lunch, “apparently they were hired by Lot.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Arthur muttered. The foreign king had been trying to kill him for years.

“He’s growing bolder,” Uther said, picking apart a cluster of grapes, “we must retaliate. If Camelot’s court cannot be safe in their own city the citizens will live in fear. Imagine, they’ll believe that assassins can freely roam our court!”

Merlin surreptitiously filled Arthur’s glass. It would have been very ironic if he’d decided to poison it.

“What of other news?’ Arthur asked, tired of the topic, “I’ve heard reports of druids in the area.”

Merlin stilled, remembering Nimueh’s comments the night before. He glanced worriedly at Arthur, who was toying with his knife. 

“Really? Send out a patrol then,” Uther commanded, “I won’t tolerate their presence in my kingdom.”

“Yes Father,” Arthur murmured. He didn’t seem too bothered by the prospect. Merlin’s heart sank.

Think happy thoughts, think happy thoughts...

The walk back to Arthur’s chambers felt longer than usual, and Merlin stayed silent for most of it, answering only in mono-syllabic words. Arthur frowned; where had his chatty servant gone?

When they got to the room  Merlin wandered in, planning to polish some boots, and turned to find the door bolted shut by Arthur.

“Sire?” he asked.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” the prince demanded, crossing his arms, “Spill it.”

Merlin blinked, at a loss. “What are you talking about?”

“You normally can’t stop insulting me, but you’ve only called me a prat once today,” Arthur said, looking the servant up and down. “Did something happen?”

“No, of course not your highness,” Merlin said quietly, clutching the boots tighter. “Can I go now?”

“Now you’re actually being respectful; this is serious!” Arthur gasped, then regained his sobriety, “seriously Merlin, tell me.”

“Why are you so concerned?” he scowled. “You never ask me about anything.”

Arthur bit his cheek, contemplating something. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment, “but I don’t like it when you’re quiet. It bothers me.”

Huh, well that was interesting. Merlin wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Did the prat like getting insulted or something? 

“Oh, don’t get that look,” the prince snapped, “you just liven things up. Now come on, what’s wrong?”

“I, well… you won’t like it,” Merlin muttered, suddenly finding the boots intensely interesting. 

“Try me,” the prince said coolly.

“No, I mean you really won’t--”

“ _ Merlin… _ ”

“I just don’t think it’s okay to kill kids!” he blurted out.

Arthur stared at him blankly. That was the last thing he expected to hear.

“Excuse me?” he said after a minute trying to process this.

“I mean, it’s not okay, it’s bad,” Merlin blabbered, starting to fidget, “even if they’re druids you shouldn’t burn them up. I know I’m not supposed to say anything, but--”

“Wait, you think I murder babies?” Arthur sounded confused.

“Not babies per se,” Merlin corrected, “but five-year-olds and single-parents seem like a safe bet.”

“Merlin, why would I--just what are you--?” He exclaimed, “is this some sick joke?”

Merlin shook his head so hard he heard gears rattle. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. Nimueh was always telling him to keep his stupid mouth shut.

“Why would you even think that?” Arthur asked incredulously. “What could possibly make you think I’d ever--”

Merlin chewed his lip, eyes wide. Arthur suddenly swallowed, finally making sense of the manservant’s rambling.

“Oh…,” he said soberly. A weight seemed to land on his shoulders, and his usual grin vanished. “How much do you know about the raids?”

Merlin ducked his head again, shoulders hunched. “Not much. Just that the king sends people out, and those people come back with people to drown and hurt,” he said. “Nim’--my guardian--tells me stories.”

“Stories?” Arthur echoed.

“About the purge,” Merlin said quietly, “She was there. All her friends were burned.”

Arthur winced, but he didn’t ask if Nimueh was a sorceress. He seemed to be wrapped up in some internal war. Merlin glanced at him, his own emotions tangled together like scrap metal. 

“Y-You’re not like your father, right?” he asked, ashamed by the pleading in his voice, “you don’t like hurting people, or putting them in pyres.”

Arthur’s lips thinned, and he shook his head. “My father doesn’t enjoy--”

“Please Arthur,” Merlin interrupted, running forward to grab his sleeve. “Tell me you’re not like him!”

His heartbeat hadn’t changed a whit, but inside he was panicking. This was important. He had to know, because if Arthur… if Arthur was what Nimueh said he was… if he was bad then--then there was only one thing he could do.

_ But I don’t want to do it _ , he thought suddenly, and his breath hitched. Somehow, despite the insults and jibes, he was starting to like the prince.  _ Oh, please Arthur, please don’t be your father. Please, please... _

His face must have given away his thoughts--Nimueh was always saying he was an open book. Arthur’s guarded expression gained a vulnerable cast when he looked into Merlin’s eyes, and he released a breath he’d been holding before turning away.

“Arthur?” Merlin managed, his voice small. 

The prince swallowed, for once looking his actual age. There was pain in his eyes, knowledge that he had made irrevocable mistakes. He drew himself up and stared Merlin dead in the eyes, jaw set.

“I’m...” he said quietly, fists shaking, “I’m not proud of my actions.”

There was more unsaid and Merlin understood it all.

HIs grip on the prince’s sleeve loosened as he stepped back from the prince.

Arthur tensed, waiting for the accusations, the blame… the anger. But it never came.

Merlin laughed.

He laughed in small gasps, clutching his side as he sank to his knees, head bent towards the ground. He might’ve been crying, but when he looked up, there was only relief on his face.

“You--you’d take it back,” he said, a small, hopeful smile beginning to form. “You’d fix it.”

“In a heartbeat,” he whispered bitterly.

“Thank goodness!”

Arthur froze as the manservant leaped to his feet and hugged him.

It was rather like being slammed by a knight in chainmail; Merlin was all hard bone and cold skin, and--contrary to appearances--heavy. Arthur felt the wind get momentarily knocked out of him by the shaking servant and panicked at the boy’s vice-like grip.

“Merlin--what’re you--?” he gasped, struggling for air.

“I’m so glad,” he sniffed, “I thought you were--that you were... But you’re not; you’re good!”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, “Get off me!”

Merlin shook his head briefly, tightening his grip on Arthur. “I was so worried...” 

Arthur stopped struggling. Merlin was clinging to him like a lifeline, but his arms were shaking. He’d been scared of him--and rightly so. What stories did he expect the fool to hear in the lower town? There were executions almost daily, and the raids… the raids Arthur didn’t think about, but the Pendragons weren’t known for mercy.  _ If I had been a better commander _ , he thought, an old memory rising to the surface,  _ if I had just called them off a little faster... _

It had been years and he still couldn’t forget the screams.

“I-I,” he tried to say, “n-never…”

He saw the little boy screaming for his mother, and Arthur had been too far away… never again, never again.

“I’m sorry you doubted me,” Arthur said to his manservant and was surprised to know it was true. 

Merlin looked up nervously and nodded, his face still that apprehensive, near-crying expression. But there was relief there too, and it was a weight on Arthur’s chest. The expectation there was different from his father’s. It was a hope that he would be a good man, not just a great one. 

He swallowed hard, trying to shove his emotions back into the box they deserved. Princes didn’t get moved, or emotionally touched (especially not by mere manservants), and they  _ never _ got hugs. 

“Merlin, get off me already,” he said, still not quite back to his usual self, “you’re insufferably heavy.”

Merlin sniffed and began to move back. Then something about the light changed. Arthur grabbed his arm and stared, suddenly befuddled.

“What happened to your eyes?” he asked.

“Wha?” Merlin asked, blinking quickly.

“They’re…” different, he was about to say. Lighter, less oppressively blue. There was even a hint of hazel--no, gold--in them. 

“Nothing,” he finished lamely, letting go of Merlin’s arm. “My mistake.”

As if he knew Merlin’s eye color perfectly. He’d probably remembered wrong or confused Merlin for someone else for a second. Irises didn’t change from one moment to the next, any idiot knew that.

“Glad to see you’re as astute as ever,” he quipped, helping Arthur back to his feet. (Arthur was going to have bruises from that tackle. Merlin was terrible with a sword, but his hugs could be weaponized). 

“I--I should get back to work,” he said awkwardly. For once in his life, Merlin seemed to realize what he’d done had been a breach in protocol. “You know, stuff to do.”

“Armor to polish, stables to muck,” Arthur finished, rubbing his side, “well, get to it--and Merlin…”

The manservant looked back from the doorway, waiting for an order. The extra chore Arthur had been about to give him slipped away. Suddenly, he felt drained. He hadn’t been expecting to be ambushed by an emotional minefield by Merlin.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, nudging Arthur back to reality. “Do you need something?”

“No, just… don’t do that ever again,” Arthur said tiredly, “I mean it.”

If anybody else had brought up the raids he would have uppercutted them. But Merlin had the annoying ability to get past his shields, which should have been impossible since they hardly knew each other. There was just something about him that made him discard the bluster. It wasn’t fair, and what was worse was that Merlin had no idea he was doing it. The idiot.

“Okay,” Merlin smiled, “if that’s what you want. See you later, your majesty.”

He ran off, leaving Arthur alone to recollect himself. That had probably been the first time Merlin used a title without sounding sarcastic.


	6. Flowers and Funny Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is really long and probably should be edited a bit. You've been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad about not posting for a while, and meanwhile, there was this gallomping chapter begging to be read, so enjoy. I'll get to writing the next part, but be warned it'll probably take me a while. This cute fic I started has taken on a life of its own and gotten waaay longer than I anticipated.

For the next month, Merlin happily forgot his job as an assassin. Well, ‘forgot’ was the wrong word, more like ‘ignored.’ Nimueh--luckily--was plotting something and hardly came back to the catacombs. She had to gather some rare ingredients for a spell; being a High Priestess couldn’t be easy, what with all the hiking involved.

So, while she was getting unfertilized wyvern eggs and mud from the Isle of the Blessed, Merlin was polishing Arthur’s boots and cleaning the stables. In the morning he tried his best to avoid the destructive sweep of his master’s sword, and at night clumsily repaired himself--usually one-handed--with the spare parts Sigan’s mechanics had left lying around.

Neither he nor Arthur mentioned the hug. There was a nonverbal agreement to keep that episode under wraps, both for their dignity (well, Arthur’s) and for emotional reasons (again, Arthur’s). Now that he was aware of it, Merlin could see how some of the king’s orders bothered the prince. How he’d set his shoulders when a raid was scheduled or clutched his sword for support as he searched people’s homes. There was nothing he could do about his duties, for better or for worse, but that didn’t mean he had to like them.

When Nimueh got back, Merlin decided, he’d tell her they didn’t need to kill Arthur Pendragon; if he could learn more about magic he wouldn’t hunt druids. Merlin didn’t want to get ahead of himself, but if Arthur was receptive enough, there could even be a chance for magic to be legal again. Of course, this was unrealistically optimistic, even by Merlin’s standards, but it didn’t hurt to wonder.

At least, it didn’t hurt until Arthur threw things at him.

“Ow!” he exclaimed, idly rubbing his head. “What was that for?”

“That,” Arthur said from his desk, “was for staring out the window like a love-struck girl for ten minutes. Where did you leave your brains today Merlin, in bed?”

“I didn’t think I’d need them while I was serving you,” he retorted.

Arthur chucked another roll at him. Merlin dodged.

“What’s on the agenda today then?” Merlin asked, refilling the prince’s cup. “Meetings? Patrols? Hitting poor-Merlin with a stick?”

“The last one is tempting,” Arthur said, “but no. We’re going hunting.”

“ _Hunting_?’ Merling groaned, “why?”

“Because, unlike somebody I know, I enjoy meat on my plate. Some venison would be good for tonight, don’t you think?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Merlin said blandly, wondering how the rumor that he was vegetarian got started, “and what’s so fun about killing cute, little bunny rabbits anyway?”

“The skill required to do so, the exhilaration that comes from stalking prey, the--”

“I actually don’t want to know,” he interrupted, clearing Arthur’s now-empty plate. “Will we leave soon?”

“Within the hour.”

“Great, then I have time to run down to Gwen’s,” he murmured.

“Morgana’s maid?” Arthur asked, “you know her?”

Merlin paused by the door, “Yeah, we’re friends,” he said, wondering over the prince’s smirk. “She’s really nice, and I wanted to give her some flowers.”

“Good luck,” Arthur chuckled, “Really, I mean it.”

“O-kay,” Merlin tilted his head, “am I missing something?”

“No, not at all. Run along, I’m sure she’s dying to see you.”

“Doubt it.”

He left Arthur’s chambers, the prince’s low chortle following him down the hall. Merlin dropped the dishes off in the kitchen, still puzzling over the reaction. He hated being out of the loop, and there were still so many social conventions he didn’t understand yet. What was so special about bringing flowers to a girl, especially a sick one?

 

***

 

Gaius, the court physician, had a little plot by the kitchens where he grew medicinal herbs. It was Merin’s favorite place to pick flowers since the lavender was still in bloom. He just hoped the old man never caught him in the act--any man who could stand up to the cook like he did was formidable.

He ran through the crowded streets, a bundle of assorted blossoms in his hand. It was a doubly good present because Gwen could eat most of them.

Her cottage was near the outer walls, by a chicken farmer. The Smith was always going, and, as always, it made Merlin feel at home to be around so much metal. He’d dropped by a few times, sometimes on castle business and sometimes just to see Gwen, and her father’s trade never ceased to put a smile on his face.

“Merlin!” Tom grinned, setting down his hammer and tongs. “Good to see you again.”

“Hiya,” Merlin replied, staring wide-eyed at the half-finished blade on the anvil. “Whatcha making?”

“Oh, a practice sword for one of the knights,” Tom replied off-handedly, “but I’m sure you’re not here to talk about my projects.”

He stared meaningfully down at the flowers. Merlin held them up proudly.

“I brought these for Gwen,” he said, “is she getting better?”

“No, if anything she’d gotten worse,” Tom said, fixing a stern glare on him, “now, I’m telling you lad, any funny business with my daughter--”

“Funny business?” Merlin echoed, tilting his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t get smart with me Merlin,” Tom said, wagging a finger, “and it’ll take more than a few flowers to win my girl over.”

“Win?” Merlin repeated. Was this code? “Well, if you want some flowers too, I’ll get you some. There’s enough here for a good soup, but it might not have enough seasoning… what?”

Tom quickly schooled his disbelief. “Oh, nothing… but you really have no idea, do you?”

“About what?” Merlin asked.

“Unbelievable,” the blacksmith muttered, turning back to the forge, “just give her the flowers, you idiot.”

Merlin blinked in confusion as the man grumbled to himself about youngsters and foolhardiness. He looked down at the little bouquet in his hands, searching for answers. Seriously, what was he missing?

He shrugged and slipped into the cottage, shelving the problem for later. Nimueh would tell him when she came back from her journey; Nimueh knew everything.

The house was small and cozy, but it was a bit more cluttered than usual. Gwen was laid up in bed, covered in blankets, so Tom’s tools were littering the table and floor in typical male fashion. Merlin gingerly stepped over a spare set of tongs and tiptoed over to her.

Naturally, Gwen heard him coming a mile away. There was a reason Merlin was the bane of Arthur’s hunts.

“Hey there,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of her mattress. “How are you feeling?”

Gwen grunted, face glistening with sweat. She’d caught a fever a couple of days ago, and was still on the mend. Gaius had visited her, so she would get better soon. He was fixing her, just like Nimueh always fixed him, and it was just taking a little longer than Merlin thought it would. After all, humans didn’t have spare parts to be changed out, so they had to take it slow.

“I brought you some flowers,” Merlin said, holding up the bouquet. “Your father thought it would lead to ‘funny business,’ whatever that is, but I think they’ll taste good in soup. How about you?”

Gwen laughed quietly, a smile replacing her exhaustion for a second. Merlin grinned and arranged them in a small bowl on the end table next to her.

“There, that should make you feel better,” he said, “I hope you’ll be okay Gwen, it’s not the same without you in the castle. None of the other servants can put up with me.”

That got another laugh and a snort. Merlin grinned in spite of himself.

“Lady Morgana is destitute,” he added, “she bickered with Arthur all night yesterday. She really knows how to get under his skin when she wants to, but I think she was just trying to distract herself. After all, you’re her best friend.”

“...bit much, don’t you think?” she whispered through her swollen throat.

“Nah,” Merlin said, “everybody knows it’s true.”

Gwen fiddled with her blanket, looking more cheerful than before. Her face was still flushed though, and the water glass was empty. Merlin refilled it for her, then had an idea.

“Here,” he said, putting a hand on her forehead, “does that feel better? My hands are pretty cold.”

Gwen nodded, closing her eyes to enjoy the feeling. Merlin held it there for a few minutes, then retracted his arm.

“I’ve got to go now,” he said, “the prat wants to go on a hunt. But I’ll be back later if you need some company.”

“I’d like that,” she smiled. “...thank you.”

“Anything for my friend,” Merlin answered, tucking her back in. “now rest up; I want to see you get better faster.”

“Alright,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Behave yourself.”

“I always do,” Merlin said cheekily, “honestly Gwen, just how do you think of me?”

Gwen’s face flushed with the fever, which worried Merlin. He mentioned it to Tom on his way out and got another strange look. He had a distinct feeling that he was missing something again.

 

***

 

He was musing what this cryptic flower-code could be when he found the body.

It was a man lying face down in the road. Luckily, it was a seldom-used alleyway, so nobody else had seen the corpse. Merlin sure hadn’t until he tripped over it.

The guards a few streets away heard a muffled clang and shrugged it off as a peddler tripping down the stairs.

Merlin got out of his face-plant and looked warily at the man. When it was clear he was dead, and not some sneaky thief trying to outsmart him, he rolled him over for a better look.

His skin was unnaturally pale like all the color had been sucked of it it. Blue and purple veins danced on one side of his face, and his eyes had rolled back into his head, showing only bloodshot whites. Merlin hadn’t been around many bodies, but he knew this wasn’t natural.

He leapt to his feet and ran towards the castle, calling for guards at the top of his lungs.

 

***

 

Merlin trailed after the soldiers, who deposited the corpse in the physician's chambers while Gaius ordered them about. The old man made him come too, because he needed to ask questions about the body.

There wasn’t much to tell. Merlin had found him by accident, didn’t know him at all, and was hardly useful with medical knowledge. And it didn’t help that he didn’t have a sense of smell or taste, which Gaius found frustrating.

“You were there too,” Merlin argued defensively, “didn’t you notice anything strange?”

“I’m an old man,” he countered, “my senses weren’t what they were.”

“Yeah, well I don’t have them at all,” Merlin muttered, “and it’s hardly _my_ fault.”

The healer raised an eyebrow and Merlin was saved from elaborating by a knock at the door.

Arthur strode without waiting for a reply. He did a double take when he saw Merlin was there, but chose to ignore him. Merlin noticed that the prince had thrown a fancy tunic over his hunting garb, so whatever was going on must be urgent.

“Gaius, my father requests your presence in the throne room,” he said regally, for once looking the part of a prince. Gaius nodded and shuffled out of the room, glancing worriedly at the stiff on the table.

Once the old man was out of sight, he rounded on Merlin.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, “I was looking for you everywhere. A prince isn’t supposed to relay messages!”

“Sorry,” Merlin rushed to explain, “but I found this body in the lower town and--”

“No excuses, come on!”

He dragged Merlin out of the room and down the hall. The automaton tripped behind him, trying very hard not to fall (with a loud, metallic clang) to the floor.

“The hunt is canceled,” Arthur continued, oblivious, “there’s an emergency, some strange disease--”

“You mean the one that the other man had?” Merlin asked.

Arthur frowned. “Other man?”

“The one I found in the lower town,” Merlin supplied, “that’s why I was late. Gaius was asking me questions.”

“Well, he’ll have a hard time getting anything useful out of _your_ brain.”

“Hey!”

“...This body, what did it look like?” he asked.

“The man was all white and gross, like worms were crawling in his skin,” Merlin said, scrunching up his face, “and he was all stiff when I found him. Oh, and his _eyes_ \--”

“It sounds similar,” Arthur mused, yanking Merlin around a corner. “We may have a--”

“--Plague,” Gaius said as they entered the throne room.

The physician was standing over a large, white sheet. A pale, stiff hand had fallen out of the wrappings. Several of the nobles looked queasy.

“Surely, you must be mistaken,” Uther murmured.

“This is the second victim I’ve seen today,” Gaius said. “It kills within twenty-four hours and seems to be spreading, We must be prepared for the worst.”

The people in the throne room went white, and Arthur put a worried hand on his sword. Merlin looked around the room, wide-eyed by the reaction. He wouldn’t be affected by some strange disease, but to the humans, it was like an invisible death hanging over their heads. How bothersome it must be to be made of flesh.

“What are we going to do if it’s contagious?” Merlin whispered to Arthur.

The prince shrugged, too busy paying attention to the court to answer.

“--I’ll investigate, your majesty,” Gaius was saying. “But it will take time.”

“Well, get to work!”  he ordered. “We cannot waste a moment.”

“Of course sire, right away.”

Merlin stepped aside as the physician was dismissed, grim-faced and dour. Arthur stepped forward in his place, at the king’s command.

“Yes, Father?”

“Send patrols to the lower town,” he said, “search every hovel.”

“Yes, sire.”

“You’re dismissed.”

Arthur bowed and turned on his heel and left the throne room. Merlin ran after him, struggling to keep up with the prince.

“What was that about?” He asked.

“Magic,” he said bluntly, “my father thinks a sorcerer is behind this.”

“What? That’s crazy!”

“Be quiet Merlin, that talk is treason. There’s no evidence saying otherwise.”

“Yeah, but there isn’t any pointing towards it either!” Merlin exclaimed. “Your dad is crazy--”

Arthur slapped his hand over Merlin’s mouth, looking down the corridor to make sure nobody overheard.

“Merlin, I put up with a lot,” he said evenly, “but I’m not going to let you go around insulting my father. Alright?”

Merlin nodded.

“And as far as evidence goes,” he continued, “the symptoms are abnormal enough--as Gaius explained while you were dozing off--and unless we can prove, without a doubt, that this is a normal sickness, we follow the king’s orders, understand?”

“Yep,” Merlin rasped.

“Good. Let’s get started,” he said, and let go.

***

 

Merlin hovered by Arthur’s side as he directed the Knights to scour the market. He tried to keep his head down and give the irritated prince some space but kept glancing at him every couple of minutes.

Oh, he was mad. Not sparky, annoyed mad, but smoldering like a lump of coal. Merlin could see it in his tense shoulders and pursed lips, not to mention the way he kept tapping his fingers on the pommel of his sword. There would be some rough mornings for Merlin if that was anything to go by.

The automaton squirmed with guilt; he’d crossed a line. He had to apologize.

“Um, Arthur?” he said tentatively, following him into The Rising Sun.

“What?” he said, as the knights began their routine search. The barkeeper pursed his lips in annoyance.

“Well, um,” he began, fingers twitching, “About what I said earlier--”

“You mean when you called my father, the king of Camelot, a deranged lunatic?”

“I did not! I only said his dice were a few sides short of six, and I’m sorry!”

Arthur grunted, inspecting a cupboard for enchantment. He was tuning out Merlin’s apology… that prat!

“Hey, I said I’m sorry,” he said, planting himself in front of the prince.

“I know, and I don’t care,” Arthur said coolly, “you’re just a servant after all.”

Maybe Arthur hadn’t thought how those words would effect Merlin, but they stung. He didn’t know that Nimueh told him that every night while she twisted his gears into place. She’d done so much for him, and he couldn’t even kill one prince. If it weren’t for her new plans, she would have put him back into that cold, dark chamber to sleep another thousand years.

Merlin dropped his hands to his sides and fell silent. Arthur walked away, reminding his men to hurry up so they could get on with the patrol.

The manservant stepped aside to let them pass; as the prince brushed past, Merlin lowered his head. He clutched his shirt and twisted the fabric over his heart cavity like he could rip the loneliness out of it. Just a servant… of course.

 

***

 

Things weren’t looking good so far. Gaius had spent all day researching the plague, but as far as Merlin knew (from Arthur’s grumblings that evening) there was no cure in sight.

So, with a heavy heart, Merlin trod down to the castle basement, following the buzz of Nimueh’s magic. She’d just returned from her trip and had been calling him since afternoon. The gentle tug of her voice distracted him. Although, compared to a month ago, it wasn’t as irresistible.

“Nim, you needed me?” he called, slipping into the forgotten chamber. His mistress was curled into a chair, smiling sedately.

“Merlin,” she purred, “were you good while I was gone?”

“Yeah,” he said, enjoying the gentle wash of magic her presence sent into him. It was like cool spring water. He could feel his stress start to disappear. “I like serving Arthur, even if he is a bit of a prat sometimes. I’m getting better at dodging him too--”

“What about our plan?” she asked pointedly. “I see the prince is still alive.”

“Uh,” Merlin swallowed awkwardly, “I’m just biding my time?”

“Really, you could’ve fooled me,” she snorted, rising from her seat. “No matter, I have other means. We can leave the prince alone for now. Has anything else happened?”

“Oh! There’s this awful disease spreading,” he said, horrified at his oversight, “Nimueh, you have to get out of here! What if you catch it?”

“Oh please, I’ll be fine,” she smirked.

Merlin cocked his head, wondering if she had a cure ready. If that was the case, maybe he could share it with Gaius.

“I’m a High Priestess of the Old Religion,” she continued, much to his disappointment, “a measly cold isn’t going to bring me down.”

“If you say so,” Merlin muttered, comparing the simple cold Gwen had with the white frost eating Camelot alive. They didn’t seem that similar.

“Now, let me see the damage,” Nimueh said, tugging at his shirt. “I’ve been gone for weeks gathering supplies; I hope that brat didn’t rough you up too much!”

Merlin surrendered himself to her repairs, wincing as his cogs were realigned and gears tightened. Nimueh hummed quietly as she worked, a marked change from her usual gripes.

“You’re happy,” he commented while she cleaned his heart cavity.

“Oh? Well, I’ve had a bit of luck,” was all she said. “Things are going very well.”

“Really? Then you have all your ingredients?”

“And more,” she smirked, “there are some interesting things happening in Camelot right now. Uther isn’t as secretive as he’d like to think.”

She tweaked one of his finger joints, the delicate metal scraping slightly as it was realigned. Merlin looked away from it uncomfortably. A dull memory of being put together by old, leering sorcerers struck him suddenly, and he repressed a shudder. They’d taken a long time to finish him, and he could still feel their greasy fingers sometimes. Then there was Sigan, always watching...

“Nim, I’m scared,” he said quietly, wrapping his free arm around himself. There was a bad feeling in the air that was bringing these memories back to light. Something rotten and gross was under the castle, he knew suddenly; a repulsive thing of muck and grime.

“Nimueh, I have a bad feeling,” he said, tugging her sleeve, but the sorceress only smiled.

 

***

 

“You still haven’t found what’s causing this?” Uther hissed the next morning.

Merlin shrank back, hiding behind Arthur as Gaius lowered his head.

“I’m sorry Sire,” he said, “but I am doing all I can. I should have a clear answer soon.”

“I see,” Uther sighed, dismissing him.

Merlin stared as he went; Gaius was very brave and seemed smart, but he was so tired. If he was just thirty years younger, maybe Merlin could have more confidence in him. As it was, the plague had already killed thirty people.

“Arthur,” the king called, “have you found the sorcerer?”

“No,” he said quietly, “we’ve scoured the lower town, and there’s nothing suspicious.”

“Check again.”

“Father, We’ve looked,” he said, “perhaps there are better uses for the knights, such as burying the dead, or--”

“Are you questioning me?”

Merlin flinched away from the king’s hard stare. Arthur swallowed and held his ground. “I simply think--”

“Your job isn’t to think,” he said, “it’s to obey me. And I’m telling--no, ordering--you to look for the evil that has caused this plague. If our citizens cannot feel safe in our walls, it won’t be long before our enemies ready their armies to attack.”

“Yes, I know, but--”

“You are dismissed,” the king finished coldly.

Arthur nodded, jaw clenched, and fled the room. Merlin trailed behind him, still shaking under the hawkish glare of Uther Pendragon.

 

***

 

People were beginning to panic, and Arthur’s knights were too busy calming down the growing unease to be much use searching. There were white flags tied to houses with the sick inside, and suspicious eyes peeked from the windows at passerby.

Merlin followed the prince, nervously looking at the people lining the streets, either too sick or scared to return home.

“It’s spreading faster,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” Arthur replied.

Merlin flinched as the bad feeling he’d been getting since yesterday washed over him again. It made his insides tingle unpleasantly.

“Maybe your dad is right,” he said, “this could be magic.”

Arthur grunted, appreciating the admission. “I’m starting to think so as well. What else could cause this?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin said, glancing at the ground apprehensively. “Do you think Gaius will figure it out?”

“If he doesn’t, we’re all dead.”

 _Well, not all of us_ , Merlin thought guiltily.

He kept up a stream of chatter for Arthur, who looked stressed beyond belief, but Merlin found himself unable to slip into the happy-go-lucky rants he loved. He was counting the white flags on the houses and thinking of the people who’d never wake up from their sleep, all cold and stiff like him.

When they reached the lower town; the smith’s fires were out, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. He pushed Arthur out of the way and ran to the building.

“Merlin?” Arthur called, concerned.

The forge was left cold, and a half-finished sword was resting on the anvil. The warm, cheery fires that Merlin loved were banked, and a white rag hung limply from a beam.

“No, no, no no no,” he whispered, banging on the door. “Gwen? Gwen, are you alright!?”

He waited pensively, then pounded on the door again. His knuckles left dents in the wood, and he was vaguely aware that Arthur was catching up with him. Finally, he had enough and forced the door open.

The house was a mess, like yesterday, and the windows were shut. Tom looked up weakly from the kitchen table, his face ashen white from the sickness.

Merlin ran to him, helping him sit. Tom grabbed his arm, gasping for breath.

“Gwen, where’s Gwen?” Merlin asked hurriedly.

Tom’s eyes flickered to the back room, and he shook his head.

Merlin gasped and ran to her.

Gwen’s usually rosy cheeks were bleached snow white, and the first of the blue veins were worming through her cheeks. Merlin clasped her hand, squeezing as hard as he dared. Her eyes flickered open, and she tried to smile.

“Hi…” she breathed, ‘you’re… back.”

“Uh huh,” he choked out, “I promised.”

“You’re a good friend,” she said, closing her eyes.

Merlin bowed his head on the mattress, shaking from emotion. He heard heavy footsteps behind him but didn’t bother to look up.

“Merlin…” Arthur said.

“She’s my best friend,” Merlin whispered from the floor.

“...there’s nothing I can do.”

Gwen’s skin continued to pale, and her breath felt short, even to Merlin’s unpracticed ear. Was this what death felt like, losing somebody so precious? She slept, but might never wake; the gentle rasp of her breath was a knife in his heart.

“Merlin, please, we need to go,” the prince said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. Merlin felt cold and stiff despite the heat.

“No, I need to fix her,” he said, head bent.

“You can’t, nobody can,” Arthur said, “we need to find the sorcerer to do that.”

“How does killing anyone help Gwen?”

“...who said anything about killing? We rough him up a bit and he’ll tell us the cure.”

“Do you really think you can catch whoever is doing this?” Merlin asked quietly, “that you and your little knights can solve the mystery? Gwen is _dying_ Arthur, I can’t just leave her. What if she never wakes up?”

He shook his head, voice breaking on the last word. Arthur sighed.

“We have to do whatever we can to help her,” he said, hating the desperation on Merlin’s face, “and all _I_ can do is search for a culprit. Without the cure, she’s as good as gone.”

Merlin slumped against the bed and became unnaturally still. For a moment Arthur thought he fainted, but after a moment the manservant gave a small nod.

“I know,” he whispered, “just… give me a little longer.”

“Of course,” Arthur said, backing slowly from the bedside, “take all the time you need… I’ll resume the patrol.”

“Great.”

“Merlin… I’m sorry.”

The prince left, and Merlin stayed next to Gwen, collapsed against the bed as he struggled with his first brush with mortality. Her breath slowed like a clock unwinding itself. Merlin clung to her hand, counting the ticks before even that stopped. He couldn’t feel temperature, but the thought of losing Gwen left him cold.


	7. If I can Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: It's 6 PM, I guess I can figure out that scene I've been stuck on for weeks.  
> ...  
> (writing)  
> ...  
> roommate tottering off to bed; "'Night!"  
> Me: "yeah, night.... wait, if she's going to bed it's probably getting late--" checks clock, "--HOW IS IT 3 AM?!"  
> ...  
> Me: "...well, I'm almost done. A little longer won't hurt."  
> ...  
> ...  
> ...  
> Me: "There, done, and it only took 12 hours! Ha ha ha ha! Take that writer's block!... speaking of which, just how much did I write--15k!? Are you crazy!?"
> 
> And that's how this (and more) happened... Ta-da!

“Merlin,” Arthur said, “Maybe you should take the night off.”

The manservant looked up from the dinner table, eyes oddly unfocused. His hair was a mess from constantly running his fingers through it, and his hands shook as he handled the dishes. 

“I mean it,” Arthur said, taking a plate from him. “You look awful.”

“I’m fine…”

He obviously wasn’t. Merlin was frantic with worry for Gwen. Arthur could see it in his eyes--his increasingly light eyes. There was hardly any blue left in them, but that was irrelevant. What mattered was that Gwen was dying, and Merlin was not coping.

Arthur put a hand on his manservant’s shoulder, trying to be comforting. It wasn’t his strong suit; he was used to his men dying because of his job, and the semi-regular attacks on Camelot. But Merlin was just a servant--no, scratch that, a kid. He couldn’t be more than a few years younger than Arthur, but he’d grown up on a farm in the countryside, not in a city plagued with vengeful sorcerers. He probably hadn’t lost anybody before.

“Get some rest,” he said eventually, “You’re going to need to stay strong. Just… remember to keep going.”

Merlin nodded absently, muttering under his breath too quietly for Arthur to make out the words.

“What was that?” the prince asked.

“Wha?” Merlin looked up, shaking off his daze. He blinked in surprise, like he’d forgotten where he was. But he didn’t look quite so hopeless now.

“Feeling better?” Arthur asked, letting his shoulder go.

“Oh, yeah, just fine,” he said quickly, “I’m sure Gwen will get better. ‘Night Arthur.”

He spun around and headed for the door, keeping his balance by a hair. The shock of seeing Gwen must have been wearing off, because he hunched his shoulders together determinedly. Arthur arched his brow, surprised but not upset. Then, before Merlin left, a niggling thought forced its way out of his mouth.

“How do you know?” he asked. “That she’ll get better, that is.”

Merlin paused in the doorway and ran a hand through his hair. It looked like a rooster had sat in it overnight.

“...Just a feeling,” he said, grinning nervously, and was gone.

Arthur sighed and collapsed into his chair. He toyed with his fork; Merlin didn’t look so hopeless now, but how was he going to face him tomorrow when reality came crashing down? They didn’t have a cure or even a lead. Unless a sorcerer magically appeared tomorrow with an antidote, Gwen, and so many others, would die. And just how would Merlin look at him then?

 

***

 

That evening, Nimueh had heard a rumor that Gaius was making progress with tracking the plague’s origin. There was no cure in sight, yet, but she couldn’t have her old enemy stumble on her new pet down in the reservoir, now could she? 

It had been so easy to put a stop to all that; one ‘stumble’ down the stairs, and the physician couldn’t continue his research. A pity he hadn’t broken anything, but age wasn’t a kind companion to have when you were injured. Not that Nimueh knew, of course. High priestesses didn’t have to worry about things like that. 

She smiled, content to watch as the guards dragged the old man up the stairs to his chamber for rest. The samples of water he’d gathered lay scattered on the floor, useless. A job well done, if she said so herself. 

Nimueh let the essence of her monster roll over her in excitement; dark, putrid magic that rotted things to the touch. This was how Uther would fall, how the old Pendragon would meet his doom! And yet, that still left the prince to deal with. She couldn’t touch him, but there were ways around that. 

The sorceress allowed herself a smirk and slunk away from the crowded hall, where nobles were whispering in a panic over the fate of Gaius. Down past the dungeons, and those ugly storerooms, to a darker corner of the crypt where ancient tunnels snaked out in all directions. She conjured herself a flame and curled her fingers around the burning orb. If a soldier saw her then, it would be over. But nobody had trod these paths in three hundred years, and she knew how to snuff out a light--or a mouthy guard--should the need arise. There was something she had to check, and if her hunch was correct, there was an easy way to rid herself of both father and son. It was here, she could feel it, and oh, so close by.

 

***

 

The fog in Merlin’s head was gone. Or, at least, it was in the background. He had an idea; a perfect, foolproof way to fix Gwen. She was a human, so he couldn’t just replace the broken parts, but he’d seen Gaius prepping medicines, and Nimueh do spells. If he could combine the two and make a medicine, maybe Gwen would be alright. It was worth a shot, and Merlin felt confident he could do it. 

As soon as he was out of Arthur’s chambers he rushed down the steps, keeping a firm grip on the railing in case he fell. Down, down, down through the lower levels, then the basement, and past the dungeons, all the way to the forgotten levels that even Uther hadn’t finished mapping. 

In no time at all, he was back where it had all started--for him, at least. The metal door screeched open easily, hinges oiled within an inch of their life. The unfinished dolls stared at him from the walls, ceramic faces broken with age and Nimueh’s fits, and their dull, marble eyes reflecting the pale light he’d conjured so that they glinted like diamonds. 

The workbench Nimueh had claimed was covered in weird herbs and bits of wire. The sorceress wasn’t home, thank goodness, so Merlin shoved the spare gears and toolkits aside so he could get a good look at those dead plants. Some of them radiated power, but others were ordinary weeds. Merlin picked them up in confusion, trying to identify what was what, but all he knew how to do was… well, there wasn’t much, actually. And he didn’t have time to flip through books looking up fancy Latin names with Gwen as sick as she was. He’d have to wing it.

Merlin recalled the things Nimueh used for her spells and potions. The high priestess almost exclusively made poisons, so he knew what  _ not _ to use, at the very least. That left a couple of herbs, and some he’d heard could be good or bad. 

_ What if I make a mistake _ ? He thought,  _ what if I try to help Gwen, but just make things worse? _

He could wait for Nimueh to come home and ask for her help. That would be the smarter option. But Nimueh was a believer in what she called “the balance of nature” and “survival of the fittest.” he could already hear her lecture about the Old Religion, and that “life for a life” business she was always on about. Even if she knew how she wouldn’t tell him how to make an antidote. It was down to him.

Merlin closed his eyes, thinking hard. He needed something that would undo the gross, toxic magic around Gwen--because it  _ was _ magic, or at least magic based. The sickness was seeping through Camelot like death on wings, but it thrummed with dark energy. Merlin didn’t know why he was sensing it more and more, but his own magic felt much stronger. It beat around his chest like a bird in a cage, begging for use. He was strong; he could do this.

Of course, he’d had no formal training; aside from listening to a few of Nimueh’s curses, and some half-remembered spells his creators had used on him, Merlin was untaught. He glanced at the grimoire of dark magic Nimueh relied on, then shook his head. That wouldn’t have healing spells. 

_ I guess it’s down to my instincts, _ he sighed. At his disposal were some dried herbs, an armory worth of metal, and more magic than he knew what to do with. For the thousandth time, he wished Sigan had just succeeded in his spell so he wouldn’t have to fret so much. He really  _ wasn’t _ equipped with anything to help people with--he could barely walk in a straight line, for goodness sake! And as for using the insane amount of magic Sigan had dumped into him prehumously, forget about it… But he had to try. 

Merlin looked guiltily at the door and was glad his master wasn’t around. She would have a fit if she knew what he was doing--meddling and disorganizing her things. But Gwen… he could do it for Gwen. 

He carefully unfolded a spare neckerchief and wrapped some herbs inside. Then, after clumsily tying it shut, closed his eyes. Ever since he’d woken up, Merlin had resisted using his magic if it was possible. Nimueh didn’t want him giving himself away, and whenever he did try there was this icky, grinding feeling inside him like something was gumming up his mechanisms. 

But he could feel his powers better now; perhaps the dust had settled, finally, or he’d just needed time to understand them. After the hug incident with Arthur, it had gotten much easier to feel himself. Nimueh’s commands weren’t as loud in his mind, or as crippling to ignore… not that he was very good at following instructions, to begin with. But now that he thought about it, there wasn’t really that much of a need to do what she said…

Something ground together inside his chest, and Merlin’s eyes fluttered open in surprise before he clamped them shut again. What was he thinking? He  _ had _ to obey Nimueh, she’d woken him up, she was his master, he owed her everything… but did he? 

A little, hesitant voice piped up, reminding him that  _ Sigan _ had made him, not the sorceress. His true master had never wanted a high priestess to get her hands on him. He was meant to be the vessel of a king. 

Yes, the magic liked that idea; it wanted its original caster back. It wanted to be in control.

Merlin winced, hand hovering over the incomplete poultice, as Nimueh’s spell tightened its grip on him. Yes, that’s what it was; a spell. A yucky, manipulative one, at that, and wound around his magic like ivy on a gravestone. She wanted him to be a puppet, ever happy to do her bidding.

But he wasn’t having that now, not when Gwen was on the line. And thankfully that creepy, irritating little enchantment was stretched thin, probably because his magic had been stewing, unused, for the last couple months. 

Merlin forgot that magic required chanting and just used it. The tendrils of Nimueh’s control snapped like a thread. The grimy, black net she’d had over him disintegrated, and Merlin felt the floodgates open in his circuits.

He felt his fingers burn, but not with heat. Pure, unadulterated magic, poured out of him and into the poultice. Merlin sighed in relief as the fabric began to glow, and he felt all his goodwill and hope seep into it.

_ This will fix her _ , he thought happily, picking it up.  _ This will make her better… this could make everyone better. _

 

***

 

Arthur woke to a familiar, hellish whistling. He was so happy he almost wanted an encore. Not because it was good or anything, but because Merlin only whistled when he was happy.. 

The immediate question of why said servant would be in a good mood when his sweetheart was deathly ill--possibly dead--was pounded into submission by Arthur; he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

“Good morning to you,” he said, hardly pretending to be annoyed by the slaughtered folk song. “You seem to be doing well.”

Merlin looked over his shoulder at the prince, sea-glass eyes unusually bright. The servant’s hair was still a mess, and he walked with an unsteady shuffle, but there  _ was _ a smile on his face. Arthur would take what he could get.

“Yeah? Maybe. I think today is going to be a good day,” Merlin said firmly. 

“Really?” Arthur commented as Merlin helped him put on a jacket. “And why’s that?”

“Oh… I dunno,” Merlin mumbled quickly, suddenly engrossed in his work. “Just a feeling. You know, I don’t think red really suits you today. Let me get out that brown duster you like so much.”

“Sure…” It wasn’t like he’d  _ just _ put this one on. Servants… “I gather it was a late night?”

“A late what, sorry?”

“A late night, you nincompoop,” Arthur rolled his eyes, “that’s the same outfit as yesterday.”

“I only have two shirts,” Merlin snorted, “not that you noticed. But yeah, you know how I am with sleeping.”

Arthur sighed, already imagining Merlin wandering Camelot in the dead hours, alerting every pickpocket in the city to his whereabouts with his complete lack of musical talent. 

“Just tell me you weren’t anywhere dangerous or illegal, and I don't care where you were,” he said. “The last thing I want to do is track down your murderer.”

Merlin cocked his head in confusion. He didn’t see how his ‘insomnia’ and violent death went together. He readied a witty reply about the intellect of pompous, royal prats.

“Oh shut up,” Arthur snapped before he could get it off. “I don’t need your sass so early--”

Someone knocked on the chamber doors, startling both of them out of the usual banter. Arthur swore lightly, and Merlin blinked over and over like that would get rid of the surprise. 

“Enter,” the prince called. 

Sir Leon entered, looking as put together as always. He bowed (exactly 45 degrees, George would be impressed) and nodded politely to Merlin. 

“What is it?” Arthur asked. He would’ve seen Leon on the training grounds in a few minutes; this was urgent.  
“Your Highness, it seems there is a sorcerer after all,” the knight said, a little out of breath from running through the castle.

“What?” Arthur exclaimed. “Are you sure?”

“As I live and breathe,” Leon replied, “there’ve been reports all morning--the king is on a warpath.”

Arthur grabbed his sword. Merlin barely finished tying his belt before he was racing for the door. The servant scrambled after them, his two left feet getting in the way again. 

“Just what happened?” Arthur demanded as Merlin and Leon ran to keep up with him. They passed servants rushing through the hall, all wide-eyed and harried. 

“Magical poultices,” Leon said, “everywhere. Over a dozen people just suddenly got better with no explanation. We’ve searched their houses, and there’s been one of these in each one so far.”

He held up a small, round piece of cloth. Arthur could smell the herbs on it from four feet away, and nearly choked. He would have been suspicious of magic for that alone, but to make matters worse, it was glowing. 

“Why are you carrying it around so casually?” he asked the first knight in alarm.

“Doesn’t seem that harmful,” Leon shrugged, sticking it back in his pocket, “and I needed to show you. Back to business sire--”

“--yes, what does my father want?”

“He wants you to find the sorcerer, of course. His face was as white as a ghost when I showed him the poultice. We have strict instructions to search the rest of the houses and bring them all in for questioning.”

“Great, thanks Leon,” Arthur said, patting the man on the shoulder, “I’ll meet you in the armory in ten minutes. Merlin, come with me, we need to--”

“Actually,” Leon interjected, “it seems Gaius fell down the stairs yesterday. Obviously, we can’t have the search for a cure stop at a time like this; I was hoping Merlin could assist him until he’s better.”

Arthur glanced at Merlin, askance. 

“Why would he want  _ Merlin _ ? He doesn’t know anything about medicine.”

“Hey!” Merlin pouted, but couldn’t argue that point. 

“It shouldn’t be difficult, he just has to run some samples,” Leon promised, “besides, there isn’t much he can do on the search, is there?”

No, but he’d probably trip over a laundry basket and make Arthur laugh. The prince disguised his snort as a cough at the last second and nodded in agreement. 

“Fine,” he said, “Merlin, go ask Gaius what he wants. I’ll see you later after the searches are over.”

“Got it, good luck,” Merlin said and disappeared down a side corridor. He was unsteady again, like someone who’d pulled an all-nighter. Arthur hoped he didn’t run into a wall by accident. 

He shook his head and turned back to Leon.

“Alright, I suppose I should ask, but who’s on our list?”

Leon pulled out a note with some names written in shorthand. “Not many now, but there are a few people in the lower town. Tom, the blacksmith, and his daughter Guinevere, Lady Morgana’s maid, are the most notable. I suggest we start there.”

 

***

 

Merlin ran up the steps to Gaius’s room, trying to ignore the buzzing in his skull. He really had pushed himself last night, making all those poultices. Once he got started he just couldn’t stop--after all, if he could fix Gwen then he could fix everyone, and then everything would be better. 

He’d used cleaning cloths from the automaton workshop and most of Nimueh’s herbs for the task. By the time he’d finished, there were two dozen poultices, and hardly an ounce of magic left in him. It was a weird feeling, all fuzzy and gray inside, but he could already feel himself recharging. It was like he gathered magic from the air to use, and it stockpiled fast. Sigan’s engineers had been very smart; he wondered what spell they’d used to make him this way. 

Regardless, he’d been very happy about making all those little cures, and even happier when he’d snuck them under everybody’s pillows. But, of course, he’d forgotten a few important things. Namely, that it was suspicious for a bunch of people who were infected with an incurable plague to get better overnight. 

When the first platoon of guards had run past him to search the miller’s house, Merlin had realized what he did probably wasn’t very smart. But by then it had been too late. At least Gwen, her father, and some others were better. That had to count for something. 

Merlin finished soothing his conscience and straightened his neckerchief. While Arthur was out homewrecking he would help Gaius. Hopefully, being out of magic didn’t make him much clumsier than he already was (the symptoms felt like what Gwen told him was called being sleep deprived did) because the old man’s glares were worse than Nimueh’s. 

He knocked on the physician's door and waited. After a moment a tired voice called out “enter” and he slipped inside, eager to get to work.

 

***

 

Arthur’s knights began rummaging through the cupboards, and he sent Gwen another apologetic look. She shrugged, because what else could you do when the knights of Camelot thought you were hiding a sorcerer behind the dinner plates?

“You didn’t see anyone?” he asked again, just to make sure.

“No, I was asleep,” she repeated, “I swear your highness, I know nothing about a sorcerer. I don’t even know why they cured my father and me.”

“Don’t worry, we’re just being thorough,” Arthur said quickly, not liking the panic in her eyes, hidden just barely under the surface. “And any clue will help. So far the victims--” Gwen frowned at the term, “--have mostly been from the lower town. It’s likely you’ve seen them before, or even know them.”

“maybe, but it’s not like that theory is confirmed,” she said, a little fiercely, as Leon accidentally knocked a rolling pin onto his own foot. 

Arthur winced in sympathy (for Gwen, not the knight). He didn’t want to drag any of her friends through the streets to be executed, but what choice did he have? His father was convinced that this sorcerer started the plague and had to be stopped. Although why a sorcerer would start killing people, only to spread a cure a couple of days later, was beyond Arthur. It was more than likely that this was someone else… But using magic to cure friends and family of a deadly illness didn’t seem that evil to Arthur, even though it was against the law. It was times like these that the ban on magic didn’t feel as black and white as his father said it was, and it troubled Arthur. Because, on one hand, magic was evil. But on the other, if you had a way to save someone from death when literally everything else couldn’t, shouldn’t you be allowed to use that?

“My lord?” Gwen asked, startling him out of his thoughts, “Prince Arthur, it’s not confirmed, is it? You don’t know the sorcerer is in the lower town?”

“No, we don’t,” he confessed, “it’s just more likely. But don’t worry Gwen, it could be anybody, even a noble, although I suppose that would be worse politically.”

The maid raised an eyebrow, and Arthur knew he was beginning to ramble.

“Odds are, you probably don’t even know them,” he finished, turning back to the knights. “Any luck, men?”

They seemed to be wrapping up. Maybe for once, they could put a few things back instead of leaving Gwen’s house a mess like everybody else's--

“Sire,” Leon said from the bedroom. “Come here.”

“What, did you find the poultice?” he called, surprised it hadn’t been discovered sooner. “Well, bring it over.”

“No… come here,” the knight said, his face blocked by the doorframe. 

Arthur frowned at Gwen, who looked just as confused. With a silent shrug, they squeezed into the small back room where Leon was while the other knights guiltily put things back on the shelves.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, because Leon was a little pale. “Did you find something else?”

“Yes… no,” Leon said, oddly hesitant. “It’s… the poultice.”

Leon never got like this; he was always the picture of calm. Arthur felt a needle of worry run through him and squashed it. 

“Well, tell me!” he grunted. “What’s got you in such a panic?”

“That,” Leon said and pointed to the bed. 

The blankets had been pulled back, and the pillow chucked against the wall. Lying on the mattress was a clumsily made poultice wrapped in an old, red neckerchief. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leon, I love you... thank you for popping up without ym permission! XD
> 
> The next part will be released in a day or two. I have the rest of part 2 done and beta-tested (Thank you TheStoryVerse and friends!) so there shouldn't be any more long delays until part 3 happens.   
> Thanks for sticking with this, people!


	8. A Sorcerer's Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur needs to make a choice, Merlin needs to grow a brain, and Nimueh oughtta give him a break.

 

The ground wasn’t solid. Arthur clutched the bed frame to stay standing. He knew who that belonged to; he saw the idiot wear it every other day. But it couldn’t be Merlin’s--Merlin wasn’t a sorcerer. 

And yet, he was whistling earlier.

Merlin only whistled when he was happy, but he’d seen Gwen dying less than a day ago so why would he be happy? Okay, maybe he’d heard about the poultices before Arthur did since he was such an early riser and went to check on her. But a glance at Gwen shot that theory out; she was as nearly as pale as when she was sick.

Arthur focused on breathing, but it was like trying to get air underwater. 

So then, what, Merlin was a sorcerer who stuck magical medicines under his friends’ pillows? He couldn’t be, it was utterly ridiculous--and yet, Merlin had the night off, and he was up the whole time. Merlin was completely relaxed this morning, even after hearing about the poultices. Merlin knew Gwen and wanted her to be cured…. And he’d said “I’m sure she’ll get better” last night. 

Arthur swallowed; he had the motive, the time, and the stupidity to do this. By that alone, he could arrest Merlin. 

Arthur picked up the poultice with a shaking hand, feeling the dried herbs crumble as he clutched it. Leon looked away from him, shock oozing out of him in waves, while Gwen’s eyes continued to widen. The fabric was worn and smelled like polish; he could even see the wrinkled corners that were usually tied into knots. He didn’t even need to see the oil stain on the corner to confirm his suspicions. This was definitely Merlin’s neckerchief. 

 

***

 

After only a few short minutes talking to the old man, Merlin found himself running back down the steps. Curse Camelot’s long flights of stairs; one of these days he was going to trip and break something important like Gaius had!

Clinking on his hip was a satchel of vials. Gaius had a few samples left, but there were a couple of very important ones he needed that’d been shattered during his tumble yesterday. 

The sun was shining brightly, getting nice and high in the sky. In a couple of hours, it would be roasting, or so the locals said. Merlin reminded himself to be careful not to touch anybody around then in case he burned them. 

There were a lot of guards milling about, doing important, guard things. He’d passed the main hall on his way out, and Uther had still been yelling at people to get a move on things as if they weren’t already. Maybe if the king did something other than shout at people, a solution would be found sooner? Or not. Merlin had a feeling Uther would get in the way no matter where he was. 

He sidestepped a horseman and jogged down the main road, counting the streets until he found the one Gaius had pointed out to him. After a quick jaunt past some beggars, he found the entrance to the reservoir. The guards let him go after he showed off his vials, and the note from Gaius about how this was research and went inside feeling very proud of himself. He was glad that some of his friends were better now, but he really didn’t have enough magic on hand to cure everybody of the sickness. The medicine Gaius was making would take care of that. 

He strolled through the cavern, counting each turn he took on his fingers. All the walls looked the same… he hoped he didn’t get lost. 

Then he saw a small hole in the wall--a secret tunnel if he wasn’t mistaken. He edged closer and squinted at the symbol etched into the wall next to it. By now it was mostly faded, but he could mostly make out of the jagged lines, and it made him smile. This would meet up with the catacombs eventually, how handy! Why hadn’t anybody noticed this before?

A loud, screeching wind blew past and nearly blew out his torch. Merlin grumbled to himself as it withered down to a small snub of smoke, and had to rekindle itself. Stupid underground winds… Maybe the tunnel was blocked off further down? He was really tempted to explore...

No, the vials! He had a job to do, and lives depended on it. He could have fun mapping out secret passages later--maybe with Gwen, now that she was better--but business came first. 

After a couple more distractions (stalactites and stalagmites) he went right at a crossroads and found a large pool of blue and green water. 

For a moment he just stopped and stared at it, enraptured. Mist rose off the water like steam from a boiling pot, even though it was cold underground, and a distant skylight cast it in pale, diluted pearliness. If only he had time to admire it forever.

Merlin shrugged the satchel off his shoulder and pulled out a medium-sized vial. He dipped it into the water and watched the bubbles come out of it as it was filled. If Gaius was right about the disease, he didn’t want to be touching this water. Well, if he was a human anyway. 

He pulled the glass out and corked it; there, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

Perhaps he’d been more tired than he thought, because really, after a couple of days cringing from the muddy, dark rot slipping through Camelot, he thought he would have noticed it when he was right by the source. 

The huge, sharp-toothed monster that roared at him clued him in though, and Merlin nearly dropped the vial in surprise. All at once his magic (suddenly back on the radar) decided to scream at him that this was  _ bad, bad, bad _ , and utterly repulsive.

The creature put a clawed hand on the rim of the waterhole, poised to leap out at Merlin. The automaton yelped and stumbled back, clutching the vials to his chest, and ran like hell. 

The thing’s roar followed him out of the reservoir, and he was sprinting back up to the citadel so fast the guards hardly noticed he’d passed them, calling for Nimueh to come as quickly as she could. 

_ Hurry, you have to hurry! _ He cried, practically hammering her over the head with their magical link,  _ it’s a disaster! _

 

***

 

Nimueh paused, torch still in hand. She was deep under the castle, still exploring the labyrinth of tunnels that had been left by previous kings. There were many false trails and traps, and the experience was leaving her more ragged than she cared to admit. But she couldn’t stop now, not when she knew she was getting close, and when she was as wired as a rooster a second before sunrise. 

And yet… had she heard something?

She frowned, cocking her head. There it was again, but not a sound. A feeling. There was this strange, unpleasantness in her gut. It grew worse, and when a frown of real discomfort reached her face, she realized what it was. 

Somebody had tripped her wards. They’d found the Afanc. 

NImueh swore, slamming her torch against the cave wall. Sparks ricocheted off the stonework, and a dark smudge stained the wall. She’d thought that by incapacitating Gaius she’d have more time to search, but now she’d have to worry about the knights going down there and ruining her fun. At least there was Merlin, he was a good backup. She could contact him and have him cause a distraction--

_ HELP NIM, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! _

Nimueh cried out, dropping the torch and clutching her head. Merlin’s voice pounded inside her temples, louder than a thousand gongs. 

_ HORRIBLE THINGS--AWFUL, JUST AWFUL---HURRY, YOU HAVE TO HURRY! IT’S A DISASTER! Disaster, disas--disa--dis…. _

It died off, echoing across the stonework. Nimueh groaned, trying to recenter herself. She wanted to retch, to curl up into a ball and cry while the pain was still fresh. But she couldn’t do that when Merlin was in trouble; whatever that idiot had been up to while she was gone couldn’t have been good, and if he was caught… well, if he was caught it was all over.

Nimueh stood, still shaky from the sheer power in Merlin’s message, and began stumbling down the hall, back to her lair. The black smudge on the wall seemed to darken, and she memorized its spot. She’d come back here soon, just as soon as that puppet had its strings untangled, and that old, detestable Pendragon was dead. 

 

***

 

Merlin was a sorcerer, that meant he had to turn him in. 

Arthur swallowed hard, still clutching the poultice. He’d been holding it too long, he knew that. Leon would get suspicious--hell, Leon  _ knew _ who this belonged to already, that’s why he didn’t parade it in front of the other knights--and Gwen… he didn’t know what to do with Gwen. She and Merlin were best friends, apparently he’d just cured her with illegal magic, and they were probably a couple. But he didn’t know her that well. Could she keep a secret?

Wait, what was he thinking, keep a secret? Merlin had to be arrested, questioned, tried, and all that. 

_ Yes, but with this much evidence _ ,  _ how much of a trial would it even be?  _ He wondered.

Arthur swallowed, picturing Merlin on the pyre. Those wide, blueish gold eyes tearing up from the smoke...the hem of his shirt catching fire… No, he couldn’t think about that.

He had to get Merlin to court, put him in the dungeons, uphold the law, and be his father’s son. Magic was evil, toxic. Therefore, Merlin was too. 

He crumpled the poultice in his hand, face hardening. That’s right, why was he hesitating? There was a sorcerer here, and he had to eliminate the threat to Camelot. Leon looked at him from the corner of his eye, awaiting a decision. Arthur turned to him, ignoring Gwen’s sharp intake of breath, and opened his mouth to issue the order, but then, he remembered something.

 

_ “You--you’d take it back,”  _ Merlin had said, a small, hopeful smile beginning to form.  _ “You’d fix it.” _

_ “In a heartbeat,”  _ he’d whispered bitterly.

_ “Thank goodness... I’m so glad,” _ he’d said, face buried in Arthur’s jacket.

 

He paused, voice stuck in his throat. That had been a month ago, why was he remembering it now? Why were Merlin’s eyes, so vulnerable, coming back to haunt him? Why did it matter what Merlin thought when he was a bloody sorcerer? 

 

It bothered him because Merlin--stupid, clumsy Merlin, actually cared if he was a prat, or if he was upset. Because he saw  _ Arthur _ , not a spoiled prince... and because he challenged him to be more than Uther’s son.

 

_ “Y-You’re not like your father, right?” _ he’d practically begged,  _ “you don’t like hurting people, or putting them in pyres.” _

_ “You wouldn’t burn me?” _ Arthur could almost hear him say now.  _ “Because we’re friends.” _

The ratty neckerchief felt too heavy now, like it was actually a piece of Merlin, not just some rag he’d picked up in the gutter. Arthur took a good look at it, at the magic it contained, and drew a shuddering breath.

Then he put it in his pocket and turned to Leon. The knight stared at him, silently waiting for a command--but not one of a particular nature. 

“I see nothing unusual,” he said, amazed by the control in his voice. “Tell the men to move onto the next house. We have nothing to report here.”

“Yes sire,” Sir Leon said and bowed. 

Arthur had a moment of unfathomable gratitude for his first knight as the man went and told off the younger recruits for disorganizing the pantry like nothing had just happened. Yes, Leon was a stickler for the rules and could be a bit overbearing… but he was also a good man (and maybe not as goody-two-shoed as Arthur first thought). He respected Arthur, and actually cared about the citizens, including the druids. If anybody else had found the poultice…. If anybody else had been there…

The poultice burned a hole in his pocket, like a secret itching to be told.  _ Show me to Uther _ , it seemed to beg,  _ let him see what a good son you are.  _

He pulled it out, turning it over in his hands. There was that lousy stitching job Merlin had done to fix that tear, and that was a smudge of that polish he liked to use on armor, and those were the herbs he’d stuffed inside to keep Gwen alive...

“Your Highness, that’s not--it can’t be his--” the maid in question whispered, finally finding her voice. 

“It is,” he said. 

“It must be a mistake, a trick--”

“It isn’t.”

Gwen grabbed his arm, fingernails twisting into the fabric. Arthur looked up from the poultice; her eyes were filled with desperate tears, and her voice shook.

“Please, your highness, please don’t hurt him,” she said. “Please, I promise I didn’t know--he can’t mean it, it had to be a mistake, or, or something--”

“The crime for aiding a sorcerer is death or exile,” Arthur said quietly, looking her in the eye. 

Gwen stepped back, her chest heaving with panicked sobs. Arthur stepped forward, leaning down to talk to her at eye level.

“I could have you killed for defending him.”

Gwen shook her head, closing her eyes like she could block out his voice. 

“Please, sire, you mustn’t--”

Arthur pressed the poultice into her hands. Gwen looked at in confusion, then back at him. Arthur’s face was grave, and he leaned in close to whisper to her.

“This is proof he is a traitor to the realm,” he said into her ear, “if you really are his friend, burn it.”

He straightened, looking her dead in the eye. Gwen stared at him, face pale. And she nodded.

“Tell anybody about this,” he reminded her, “and we all hang.”

He brushed past her, headed for the door. Leon and the others stood to attention. The first knight’s eyes never left Arthur, but the prince didn’t know how to read the man’s expression. It was veiled under a stoic mask Leon had spent years perfecting.

They had three more houses to search, but Arthur wasn’t going to join them, not now. They could ransack a few hovels on their own. He had to find Merlin as quickly as possible because friend or not, that fool had some explaining to do. 

“Let’s go,” Arthur said to his men. He swept out the door, relying on his royal demeanor to hide just how panicked he was at the moment. Gwen ran to the door, the poultice tucked into her skirts as she watched the prince depart. He didn’t spare her a glance; he couldn’t afford that kind of suspicion right now. 


	9. My Hero

Merlin was panicking too, although for very different reasons than Arthur. 

He barrelled down the corridor, heedless of any guards that might be patrolling the catacombs (there never were any) and rushed toward the workshop-turned-lair he called home. 

_ Nimueh, Nimueh please be down here, please please PLEASE be down here _ \--he thought, pushing the door open and stumbling inside. 

“Nimueh!” he called frantically, running past rows of automatons that stared at him with lifeless eyes. “Nimueh, it’s terrible, you have to help, please Nim!”

Finally, he saw her. She was sitting, head in hands, by the workbench, which had been ransacked to little more than a few piles of nuts and bolts by Merlin’s poultice-frenzy. 

“Oh, thank goodness! Nim, you’ll never believe what I found--” he began.

“SHUT UP!” she screamed, hands on her temples. “PLEASE!”

Merlin froze perfectly still. Nimueh groaned, wobbling slightly. 

“Your voice… so loud,” she managed, “there was no need to shout... I thought I was going deaf.”

“Oh,” he said, then, “ _ oh _ , Nimueh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was being so loud. See, I was scared, there’s this thing down there that’s like--”

“Ow, ow ow ow,” she hissed, waving at him to be quieter. Merlin clamped a hand over his mouth, guilt worming into him. Poor Nimueh, what had he done to her, and by accident!?

He hovered beside her for a moment, waiting (and hoping) for her to get better quickly. After a couple of minutes, the priestess cracked an eye open and stared ruefully at the automaton.

“I gather you had something important to talk about?” she said tersely. “What went wrong? Did they catch you? Do they know you have magic?”

Merlin shook his head, ran a hand through his hair, and shook with nerves. 

“No, no it’s way worse,” he said, and Nimueh sat up straighter in alarm. “There’s this awful  _ thing _ down in the waterways Nimueh, and it feels  _ disgusting _ . I was down there, getting samples, and it tried to kill me--at least I think it was trying to kill me, but I ran away pretty quick--and I could feel this sticky, tar-like spell slithering off it like slime from a slug. It’s  _ in the water _ Nim; I think it’s what’s killing people!”

While he talked he paced around the room, tripping over the occasional foot or spare head. His magic--or the piddly amount left of it--rattled around inside him, fed by his emotions. It wanted to protect him from the nasty creature, let loose and destroy it, but he couldn’t, there wasn’t enough--and Nimueh was here. NImueh could do it instead. She could keep him safe, she was his hero.

So he ranted, and turned back to his master, trying to stress just how terrifying this plague-ridden piece of filth was, when he saw her face. 

Far from horror-struck, Nimueh looked angry. But not at the monster; at  _ him _ .

“Nim, what’s wrong?” he asked. “Did I do something?”

“Do something?” she repeated, getting shakily to her feet, “ _ do something _ ? You’re the one who tripped my wards! You’ve been assisting the enemy instead of taking advantage of this plague, aiding those usurpers instead of obeying my commands--you nearly deafened me with your magic because you were frightened of a little monster! You have done  _ so much _ wrong that I cannot begin to describe just how angry I am at you,  _ Mer _ lin.”

Which each item on the tally she took a step closer, and Merlin a step back, until he was pressed against the wall with her leaning into him, eyes sparking with anger. He shuddered; he didn’t like her like this. Nimueh got mad a lot, but when she was  _ angry _ angry, then heads flew… usually the ones on the ground, that looked a lot like him. 

“I gave you one job,” she said, voice going soft and quiet, “I told you to kill the Pendragons. It’s been months; why are they still alive?”

“I-I messed up at the feast,” he said, “a-and I’m bad at killing people?”

Nimueh’s eyes only narrowed. She put a hand on his chest, leaning inches away from his eyes. Merlin swallowed nervously and tried to get her back on track.

“Please Nim,” he said, “you have to kill that monster before the city is destroyed. It’s so evil, a--and I don’t think I can do it alone. I need help. We have to keep the citizens safe.”

“Is that why you were rooting through my potion ingredients?” she asked, “looking for a cure?”

“I may have created a few poultices?” he told her, smiling nervously.

The next thing he felt was Nimueh’s hand around his throat, yanking him down to her height. 

“You  _ idiot _ !” she growled, “you wasted my ingredients  _ for that _ ? Did you really think that a piece of scrap metal like you could do something so refined--and what’s more, that it was a good idea to help the enemy? I told you not to--do you realize this was direct disobedience to my orders?”

Merlin squirmed against her grip, trying to break away, but Nimueh’s hold was unerringly strong, and her fingers tightened when she got a good look at his face.

“Your eyes…” she whispered. 

Merlin had never really paid attention to what his eyes looked like, but he took careful note of how Nimueh’s dilated when she got mad, and right then, they were more black than brown. 

She shoved her other hand against his chest again, and he gasped as a shard of her magic ripped through him. Long gone were the gentle waves she used to reinforce her commands; this was a sword, ripping through his enchantments to find her fingerprint. 

Merlin’s hands spasmed and he was unable to tear her hands away. This wasn’t pain--he couldn’t  _ feel _ pain, but this  _ something _ was agony, tearing and retying his magic together as it passed by like venom from a snake. 

When it finished, he was pressed against the wall, held up by the little sorceress’s iron grip, gasping for air he didn’t need as his body convulsed.

Nimueh stared at the automaton with a guarded expression as she realized just what was different about him.

“You broke through my magic,” she hissed, “how?”

“N-Nim, I don’t--” he breathed. 

She sent another wave of magic through him, and he flinched. 

“Free will,” she spat, “I should’ve known. What an annoying safety measure. How long since you betrayed me, Merlin? How long since you allied with Camelot?”

“Nim, I just wanted to help--”

“No, you’ve never allied yourself to me, have you?” she mused, “always questioning me, always messing up orders. I knew the spell was weakening, but for you to sever it completely? You’re too powerful for your own good, little doll. I’ll have to fix that.”

Merlin could feel his magic starting to respond now, uncoiling like a snake. His hands stopped spasming slightly; he could think past the  _ something _ stirring through his frame.

“Nimueh, please,” he began; he had to explain things to her properly, “you have to listen to me. There’s a monster under Camelot killing people. W-We have to stop it first, then we can talk. I promise I’ll be good, I’ll listen, just don’t let it hurt more people. I don’t want anyone to die.”

Just thinking of Gwen in peril again, or Arthur getting hurt--heck, even that beady-eyed cook being threatened--made Merlin desperate to please Nimueh. She was the only one who could help him, the only one who knew what he was. She was family. She was his hero.

Nimueh laughed, shaking her head, and kept her grip firm. 

“That’s always the problem with you, isn’t it?” she said, “You don’t want anybody hurt, even if they’re the villain. You’re always hesitating, always putting your duty behind your feelings--that’s why you’re  _ useless _ Merlin; all it takes for magic to be freed is one man to die, and you can’t even kill him. No wonder Sigan left you to rot.”

Merlin’s hands weakened on her, and his lip trembled. Three hundred years underground, alone and scared, unable to think or move--not even to exist really. Just a vague awareness that time was passing, and that he was stuck with nothing but memories to forget.

“That’s not fair,” he whispered, “you promised you wouldn’t talk about that Nim.”

“And you promised to kill the Pendragons,” she sneered, “look how that turned out. Now you’re begging me to defend his city.”

“We have to. The monster--”

“The monster doesn’t matter,” she snapped, “and if you’d just did your job in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to go to all the trouble to use it.”

The world was turned upside down. Merlin stared at Nimueh for a moment, trying to make sense of what she said. But he couldn’t, because if what she said was true, then that meant...

“didn’t you find it odd that the plague started as soon as I came back? No, you were too starstruck to put the pieces together,” she continued, relishing his surprise, “but really Merlin, a magical illness and a high priestess in the same city begs for some suspicion.”

“You can’t mean that,” Merlin said, shaking his head. It was getting hard to talk, his voice wasn’t working right. “Y-Y-You c-can’t have made--made that t-t-thing Nim. Y-You can’t!”

The priestess scoffed, rolling her eyes. 

“Why not?” she said, “they all deserve to die; Camelot betrayed my people, sided with Uther Pendragon, and banished me to live in misery. I want them to suffer, rot away like the filth they are.”

“Y-You can’t mea--mean that,” he stuttered, “y-you can’t.”

Merlin’s frame shook, and he choked on his words. Nimueh stared at him as the automaton blinked rapidly, clutching at her wrist like it was the only real thing in the world. 

“What are you doing?” she asked in exasperation as the machine shuddered beneath her hands. 

Merlin shook his head, words jamming in his throat. “D-D--D--don’t-don’t--don’t k-k-k-know. I j-just--”

“You’re crying,” she realized, aghast, “you’re trying to cry!”

“No,” Merlin sobbed, jerking his head back and forth. “C-can’t....can’t c-c-cry.”

But he was, just without the tears. His throat was wracked with dry sobs, choking on his voice. The sorceress watched in amazement as the clockwork servant bent over, trying to fight off a feeling he had no idea how to handle. A machine made to be powerful and house a spirit, but incapable of nursing a heart. 

“Amusing, you’re becoming human,” she said, lifting Merlin’s face up so she could stare into his anguished eyes. 

The deep, midnight blue of her enchantment had disappeared entirely, and in its place was a blue-gold mixture sure to turn heads. But more captivating was the swirl of emotions writhing just under the surface of those glass orbs. 

“How Sigan created you is beyond me,” she murmured, “But I doubt even he expected this to be the result… But I don’t need a servant who thinks for himself,” she spat, and he felt the thrum on her magic through her fingertips. “I suppose this time the enchantment will have to be stronger.”

Merlin wanted to talk to her, to tell her that he loved her; she was all he had when he woke up. She’d seen something him, something worth awakening him for… but maybe that something had only been a tool. Because that’s what Merlin was, a tool made out of scraps and enchanted to look pretty. Nobody cared what he was inside since Sigan was just going to erase all that anyway. But Nimueh was supposed to be different; she was supposed to care. 

“Nimueh, please--” he gasped. “I-I don’t want to--I don’t want to go back into the dark!”

She cocked her head and asked, “Since when did I care what you think?”

Merlin screamed as her magic dug into him, gnawing through his circuits like a disease. The blue light of her spell danced behind his eyes, and in the distance, he heard her chanting in the old tongue for control, power, and obedience. 

She was going to put him back in a box, trap him inside his own body because Merlin didn’t matter, only the machine did. Yes, and she was right, because Merlin never mattered, not really. Nobody ever wanted him. 

...but no, that wasn’t true. Gwen would miss him. Nimueh would enchant him, and he’d forget who she was, and when they saw each other again she’d say hello as he’d pass by, and she’d be lonely. She’d think he didn’t care, even though he did so, so much. 

And Arthur, what about Arthur? If Merlin wasn’t around, he probably couldn’t even put his shoes on right… and would he miss him at all? Would he even notice if one day Merlin wasn’t Merlin?

An icy blackness numbed his insides. His vision started going dark; the light in Nimueh’s eyes was all he could see now. 

What had the prat said to him a month ago? Something about how he trusted him, or something or other. What had they been talking about? It was all so blurry now... 

It was getting cold--yes, cold, even though he couldn’t feel temperatures. He’d always wondered what frost felt like; it was familiar. It felt like being alone.

_ But I’m not alone now _ , he thought,  _ I have friends. _

And then he remembered.

“ _ I’m sorry you doubted me, _ ” Arthur had said, his hand hovering near Merlin’s head as if the prince couldn’t decide whether to pat it or not.

Arthur had noticed he was upset, and he’d cared. Arthur saw  _ Merlin _ , not just a servant or an automaton, but a person. 

_ He sees me _ , Merlin thought.  _ Just me. _

That was more than enough. 

The darkness was dimming to a pale, uneven grayness, but Merlin fought it. He felt a thumping in his chest, maybe his magic begging to be let out. Why had he hidden it? Why let Nimueh have her way--was he that used to being used by her?

Merlin thought about Gwen’s smile, and Arthur’s amused smirk. He remembered how it felt when he used magic to make those poultices, and the joy he felt when he saw the sickness leaving Gwen and Tom; it had been like his feelings had been given physical shape, and he drew on that sensation as he called on his magic.

“What are you doing?” the priestess snapped, alarm flashing in her eyes. “Stop that!”

Merlin grit his teeth, digging his metal fingernails into Nimueh’s arms. The woman flinched back slightly, and he pried her hands off his throat. 

“Go… away!” he gasped, feeling the numbness recede. Nimueh’s face was awash with a golden glow--the light from his eyes.

“Stop struggling,” she said, her own eyes glowing, “I’m going to fix you--”

“I’m not your tool!” he shouted, and everything broke. 

A shockwave of pure magic ripped out of him and slammed into Nimueh. The priestess screamed and flew backward, hitting herself against the worktable where she lay very still. 

Merlin gasped and sank to the floor. His whole body convulsed, magic sparking through him like a runaway horse. It stung, a sensation he wasn’t familiar with, pinpricks of light shooting through and hurting him all over. 

_ What’s happening? _ He wondered,  _ Did I do something wrong? _

Then the pain lessened, and little by little, he regained control of himself. His body wasn’t wracked with those awful shudders, and he felt the last of Nimueh’s magic slough off him and dissipate. 

He could finally breathe. 

Nimueh lay about ten feet away, twisted at an odd angle. Merlin gulped, thinking perhaps he’d shut her down completely, then relaxed when he saw the occasional rise and fall of her chest. She’d used him and thought he was an idiot, but he didn’t want her to die. He didn’t want  _ anyone _ to die. And… for better and for worse, she was the first person he learned to love. Even though that trust had been betrayed, she had been there for him.

Merlin slowly got to his feet and made his way to the workbench. With stiff, unwieldy hands, he unfolded an old cleaning rag and sprinkled some herbs on it. His magic felt raw and it hurt to use, but he poured as much as he could into the poultice and laid it on her chest. 

“Get better Nim,” he said softly, “...bye.”

Then he dragged himself out of the crypt, and up the stairs. As he went, his movements straightened out, and he brushed off the dust that had gotten in his hair. He had a monster to stop and no idea how to do it... But for starters, he needed help.


	10. That Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prince and an automaton walk into a bar. Both bang their heads. Both are idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. No wifi for nearly a week!

Arthur power-walked through the castle, trying his best to portray authority and calmness, although he was panicking inside. In a matter of minutes, he had to go to his father and give a report about the sorcerer-hunt, and he _still_ hadn’t found Merlin.

 _Maybe he’d run away,_ that cynical (and logical) part of his brain suggested, _he booked it after making those spells. After all, only an idiot would stay in Camelot after pulling a stunt like that._

Yes, but Merlin was exactly that kind of idiot. For the love of Camelot, he’d used his own neckerchief for one of the poultices; even a dunce knew better than to do that!

“Arthur,” Leon said, appearing from nowhere. “Your father--”

“I know!” Arthur swore, rubbing his brow, “I know, just give me a minute--”

“No, sire, you can’t wait,” Leon said quickly, grabbing Arthur’s arm and dragging him forward. Arthur was too shocked by the breach of etiquette (from _Leon_ of all people) to stop him. And Leon’s next words only shocked him more.

“Your father is going to arrest the victims.”

“What?!” Arthur cried. “The ones who were healed?”

Leon nodded grimly, tugging the prince closer to the main doors. “Yes, he seems to think they were allied with the sorcerer--agreed to spread the disease in exchange for immunity, or something.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Arthur replied.

“Yes, well ridiculous or not, he’s got half the court convinced it’s the case,” Leon said tersely, shoving him toward the door. “Given recent events, I apologize for breaching protocol, your highness, but it _really_ isn’t a meeting you should miss. So stop gaping _and get over there_.”

“R-Right,” Arthur said and ran for the doors.

 

***

 

Merlin skittered past the guards, not wanting to be slowed down. He was getting his panic back, which was just lovely because it meant he was freaking out and terrified of the monster again.

Recent events aside (as in, the whole ‘Nimueh thing’) the monster in the reservoir was the scariest thing he’d ever seen. Well… if he thought about it longer, than maybe Sigan’s soulless black eyes three hundred years ago were haunting, and the icy feeling Nimueh poured into him would give him daymares every now and then--but at the precise moment, the mud-monster was a walking panic attack.

It _had_ to be stopped; after all, it was killing most of Camelot just by chilling in the water hole, but what if it crawled out and decided to--he didn’t know--chew on the guards, or something? He had to protect them, even though monsters weren’t his specialty.

...But they were Arthur’s.

Merlin was never more thankful to serve an arrogant, sword-swishing prat than right now; finally, all those mornings beating up Merlin with a wooden stick would come in handy!

...or they would if he could find him. Merlin ran through the corridors, looking for that familiar golden head and red coat.

What he got instead was a faceful of black hair and green dress.

“Sorry, sorry!” he said, barely avoiding running into the lady Morgana. But by swiveling out of the way, he only tangled his legs together and tripped, landing square on a plush carpet (which deadened his fall quite a bit).

“Oh, no, are you alright--Merlin?” she said, helping him up.

“Yes, completely fine IneedArthurwhereishe?” he gasped.

“What?”

Merlin looked around, half expecting the prince to appear around the corner. When he didn’t, he turned back to the rather alarmed Morgana to explain.

“You two are always fighting so I thought you’d know where he is and I really need him because there’s trouble and I think I know what’s causing the plague,” he said. “So please if you know where he is tell me right now because there isn’t much time and I’m freaking out and I really need him to use that stupid sword to kill the monster before--”

“Hold on!” she exclaimed, putting a hand over his mouth. “What are you talking about?”

Merlin stared at her, silenced, with wide eyes. Morgana stared back, the barrage of words decoding itself.

Merlin realized he’d just said quite a lot, and most of those things a manservant shouldn’t know or should know better than to say. Maybe Morgana wouldn’t like those things, and really he didn’t know her too well. What if he got in trou--

“You figured out the cause of the plague?” she said, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. “Really?”

“Ahh, y-y-yes!” he yelped, watching his world spin. “I need to tell Arthur right now.”

“We can do better than that,” she said, grabbing him by the hand and yanking him forward. “We can tell the king!”

“Wha?”

Merlin stumbled after her, following her down the main hall. Morgana was walking so fast Merlin had to run to keep up, and he knew he must look ridiculous. A passing guard did a double take at the sight of the tall, lanky servant being dragged by the not-quite as tall king’s ward. What a picture they must make.

“The king? Why would we tell the king?” he asked, panicking at the thought. Uther scared him.

“Because he just ordered my maidservant to be arrested for aiding a sorcerer!” she said, “and a dozen others as well.”

“WHAT?”

“--and all because some do-gooder got it into his head that he should heal a few people with magic!”

“He? What makes you think it was a he?” Merlin asked, immediately regretting the question.

Morgana just rolled her eyes. “Only a man would be that stupid.”

 _Well, sorry,_ Merlin pouted.

They arrived at the great hall, and Morgana ordered the doors opened. Merlin could hear shouting even through the thick wood. The huge, oak doors ground open, and the argument came into full focus.

“--being ridiculous father,” Arthur was saying, “you have no proof these people even knew the sorcerer!”

“Magic users don’t heal for free, there must be a reason!” Uther shot back, “these so-called citizens could very well be the reason the plague has spread so far.”

“Gaius said it’s most likely something in the water--a new illness, nothing more,” Arthur said, “you can’t just arrest random people because you have a funny feeling. That’s not how justice is administered--”

“YOU DARE TELL ME HOW TO RUN MY KINGDOM?!” Uther roared, causing half the council to flinch. He stalked up to Arthur and shouted at him; Merlin saw how the prince’s shoulders tensed and bit his lip.

“I will not risk a sorcerer in Camelot, and unless a cure can be found, and proof given that it _isn’t_ magic, I will treat this plague as if it were an enchantment. And should these conspirators continue to hide their involvement, I will have to choice but to execute them because _that_ is what a ruler does Arthur, they protect their kingdom no matter the cost. A few lives in return for our city is a small price to pay.”

“But Father--” Arthur began, very pale, but he didn’t get further.

All Merlin could hear was “execution.” Gwen was going to be killed because of what he did--Uther always said they were guilty, regardless of the truth--and the others too; Tom, the baker, the little kids he’d just wanted to help.

He was running through the doors, and past Morgana before his brain had time to catch up.

“Wait!” he shouted, standing in front of the court, “wait, it was me! I’m the sorcerer!”

 

***

For the second time that day, Arthur was utterly shocked.

There was Merlin--sweet, dunderheaded Merlin, sorcerer extraordinaire, standing in front of the entire court and announcing he had magic. Arthur felt his face go white and had to steady himself on the back of a chair so he wouldn’t faint from the sheer idiocy of it all.

“It was me,” Merlin said, not noticing how flabbergasted the court was. Uther leaned forward, eyes narrowed in enmity as the servant continued. “I-I used magic to heal them because I wanted them to get better. There was no cure, so I, um, made one, and I guess I didn’t think things through, and-and I put myself at your mercy, your majesty.”

“And tell me, sorcerer,” the king said, leaning back into his throne, “are you the one who set the plague on my kingdom?”

“What? No!” Merlin looked offended. “Of course not. I just wanted Gwen--”

“Arrest him,” Uther said simply, motioning for the guards. They grabbed Merlin’s arms and began to pull him out of the room.

Arthur was across the room in a heartbeat, putting himself in between Merlin and his father.

“Father, don’t be ridiculous,” he said, thinking fast, “I can’t allow this madness to continue. It _can’t_ have been Merlin; there’s no way he’s a sorcerer!”

If Arthur hadn’t figured out otherwise a few hours ago, he probably would have missed the slightly insulted look on the servant’s face.

“Did you not hear him?” Uther demanded.

“Yes--” Arthur began.

“He admitted it.” the king stated, with the satisfaction that soon all his problems would be over.

Merlin actually sighed in relief. Arthur wanted to smash his servant’s face against a wall just then.

“He saved my life, remember?” he told his father, drawing on every ounce of goodwill he had not to clobber the idiot sorcerer right then and there--all the while wondering why he wasn’t just giving Merlin up to his dear old dad if he was literally doing all the heavy lifting for him.

“Why fabricate such a story?” Uther asked, already bored.

“Because…” oh crap, he needed something believable. Arthur felt his mind go blank, and all he could think about for a moment was Merlin’s atrocious humming that morning. Oh, how he hated it, and all those stupid rhymes he made up on the spot about daisies and buttercups, and….oh, that was it.

“Because,” he said again, gesturing belatedly at Merlin, “...he’s got a grave, mental disease.”

“ _Really_?” Uther said.

“He’s in love,” Arthur said.

Merlin whirled on him. “What?”

“With Gwen.”

“I am not!” he squawked.

Arthur sighed and shook his head, putting an understanding hand on Merlin’s bony shoulder.

“Don’t be so shy,” he said, “you don’t need to hide it. I saw you with those flowers you were giving her the other day, clear as day, and we all know what that means.”

Merlin spluttered for a moment; there seemed to be some kind of cosmic epiphany going off in his head. After a good thirty seconds, all he managed to say was “The flowers weren't--I mean, I didn't--I’m _not_ in love with her!”

“It’s alright,” Arthur said smugly. This was going perfectly, “You can admit it.”

He gestured to the council chamber, which was full of smirking nobles. Even Uther was pretty amused. Ah, yes, the power of young love.

“I don’t even think about her like that!” Merlin insisted, looking truly desperate.

Arthur opened his mouth to reply but was beaten to it by Uther.

“Perhaps she cast a spell on you,” he said and smiled.

Uther. Had made a joke. About magic.

Operation save-Merlin complete. They were out of the woods.

“Merlin is a wonder,” Arthur said fondly, ruffling his servant’s hair. “...But the wonder is that he’s such an _idiot_.” He shook Merlin’s head a bit, to get the point across.

“Go. Don’t waste my time again,” Uther said, turning back to the meeting, “Let him go. Now, we must discuss…”

Arthur dragged Merlin out of the door and had the doors slammed shut. Getting him out of there proved difficult--Merlin could be near immovable if he wanted to be; did he put lead bars in his boots?

Once Merlin was out, and the doors were closed, Arthur dragged him by the shoulders down the hall to an isolated corridor. He scarcely noticed a shellshocked Morgana trailing behind.

“What were you _thinking_ , you idiot?” he hissed, giving his servant’s shoulders a good shake. “Do you have a death wish?”

“I--I--I couldn’t let--I mean, Gwen--” he stuttered.

“I was talking him out of it,” Arthur said, “there’s still time to save them. But you playing the martyr, even for the girl of your dreams, is just plain stupid!”

“I’m not in love with her!” Merlin insisted, “I didn’t even know that’s what flowers were for.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Arthur muttered, shaking his head. There was something he had to talk about with Merlin… what was it again?

“Oh! That’s right,” Merlin exclaimed, suddenly grabbing him, “Arthur, I need your help!”

“What?” Arthur said, caught off guard.

“You’re right,” Morgana gasped, grabbing his other arm, “it’s terrible Arthur; Merlin’s figured out what’s causing the plague--”

“Yes,” Merlin interrupted, “there’s this thing down in the reservoir made of mud, and we need you to kill it--”

“I don’t know all the details,” Morgana continued, “but apparently there’s this monster…”

Arthur looked back and forth between them, unable to listen to more than three words at a time as they talked over one another.

“Enough!” he finally said, “stop, just one at a time, okay?”

“Oh, right…” Merlin said. Morgana nodded for him to go on. “...what was I? Oh yeah!”

He rummaged through the satchel he was wearing and pulled out a slim vial.

“I went to help Gaius, and he told me to go to the city reservoir to get a sample for study,” he said, “and when I was down there this hideous, ugly creature leapt out of the water at me. It had claws, and teeth, and reeked of nastiness, so I ran as fast as I could to find you. It’s got to be what’s causing the plague, so if we kill it everybody should go back to normal, right?”

Merlin rattled all of this off in one breath. Arthur blinked in amazement, then nodded.

“Yes, I should inform the guards,” he said.

“Arthur, you can’t be serious,” Morgana said, “it’ll slow us down too much. We need to stop this thing _now_ , so the people stop suffering. We can show the corpse to Uther and he’ll stop the sorcerer hunt.”

“What about the mass healings?” Arthur demanded.

Morgana pursed her lips, then said slowly, “I’ll tell him I saw a strange, robed person flee the reservoir after we killed the monster and that they’d cured the people as a distraction so we wouldn’t find the creature as quickly.”

“You know, that actually might work,” he said, impressed. “Not bad.”

“Thanks,” Morgana smirked.

“Wait, you make it sound like you’re coming with us,” Merlin piped up, looking confused.

“Of course I am,” Morgana said, “You don’t expect me to sit around like a damsel in distress when Gwen might be executed, do you?”

“Morgana’s an accomplished swordswoman and about as stubborn as a mule,” Arthur added, “if we don’t take her she’ll just follow us anyway.”

“Really? Merlin looked curious, “so you’re both hotheads? Excellent, that means twice as much muscle; let’s go!”

He stuck the vial back into his satchel and ran down the hall. Morgana looked at Arthur, a little aghast.

“Did he just say we’re similar?” she asked.

“Like a said, he’s got a mental disease,” Arthur replied seriously, “... maybe more than one.”

“Think a few knocks to the head will cure him?”

“Let’s face one crisis at a time, shall we?”

 

***

 

Merlin could feel the creature’s presence disturbingly well, and he wanted it out of Camelot as quickly as possible. It was pure torture waiting for Morgana to get into her battle clothes, and he couldn’t stop pacing and jabbering Arthur’s ear off about how he _wasn’t_ in love with Gwen.

“--why do flowers even mean that?” he demanded, “I just thought they’d make a tasty soup, not proclaim romantic love! We’re just friends, okay? _just, friends_.”

“Right, right,” Arthur yawned, “whatever makes you feel better.”

“I’m serious!”

“Okay.”

“Arthuuuur.”

Morgana stepped out of her room, swishing a thin, lightweight sword in her hand. Arthur rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘show-off’ but Merlin clapped his hands together excitedly.

“You look ready to maim a few people,” he said, “Excellent!”

Morgana raised her eyebrow at Arthur, silently asking, ‘ _is he always like this ?_ ’

Arthur shrugged. ‘ _More or less_ ’.

She nodded. _‘I see why you keep him around._ ’

Another shrug, and a half nod. They started down the corridor, Merlin explaining to Morgana that he’d found a secret tunnel into the reservoir earlier, so they could use it to get down there without alerting the guards. He’d seemed to have thought out their route pretty well, unlike _some things_ he’d done. Honestly, Arthur couldn’t figure out whether he was intelligent or just plain stupid. There were times like these, where he was competent, and others, like the court scene, where he was just insane. Honestly, revealing himself as a sorcerer in front of his father? He was lucky he was there to bail him out, and even then it was just plain ironic since he actually was--

 _That’s right_ , Arthur remembered, tripping over himself, _He’s a_ **_sorcerer!_ **

How had he forgotten something so important!? Here he was, walking less than five feet away from Camelot’s biggest enemy, and the man was… being his normal, clumsy self, none the wiser.

“--I really thought it was going to get me,” he was saying to a bemused Morgana, “I trip a lot, you know? Never got used to this whole ‘walking’ thing, though I might finally master it soon. So, it was a real risk that it’d catch me while I was escaping.”

I...see,” she said, looking to Arthur for help. She seemed to be fighting the urge to laugh,

“You said it was in the main waterway?” Arthur said, deciding to give her a hand.

“Yeah, the prettiest one,” Merlin said, like that meant something. “Of course, the whole display is ruined by the thing living there. You’ll _hate_ it Arthur; it’s all fleshy mud and teeth. I hope you kill it quickly. Oh, and you too Morgana. I hope you kill it quicker.”

“I’ll kill it before Arthur can draw his sword, how about that?” Morgana said comfortingly.   
“That would make me very happy,” Merlin said seriously.

They started descending the basement stairs and took some side passages into a dusty, ill-used passageway.

“Why are we down here again?” Arthur asked.

“Weren’t you listening?” Merlin asked, running his hands over the walls, searching for something. “I found a secret tunnel to the monster, so I’m taking us through it.”

“I thought you didn’t have time to explore it,” Morgana pointed out, “how do you know it’s over here?”

“Well, it seemed like a pretty straight shot,” Merlin said, pushing a stone further into the wall. “And I know the castle pretty well since I’m always exploring it, so I figured it’d come out around… here. Ah ha!”

There was a loud grinding noise and a section of the castle came apart. A dark, hollow passageway yawned in front of them, practically swimming in dust. Arthur shook his head in amazement.

“You really are a riddle, Merlin,” he said.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Follow me!”

 

***

 

Merlin was regretting going in front since it meant the monster would try to eat him first. But on the bright side, it wasn’t like he’d die…. Immediately. Better him than Arthur, but at the very least, the creature might lose interest when it realized there wasn’t anything tasty about him.

“We’re getting close,” he said when they reached the end of the secret tunnel. He looked back, amazed by how dirty they all were now. Morgana and Arthur looked like ghosts with all that dust on them!

Merlin squirmed out of the opening and helped Morgana through. Arthur came out last, looking warily around him and clutching his sword. Merlin held the only torch, and it bathed a small patch of light around them in a cheery, warm flicker.

“This way,” Merlin whispered, tiptoeing forward.

They went right at the fork in the cave and came out near the reservoir. Morgana sighed in appreciation.

“It _is_ beautiful,” she said.

“Huh,” Arthur said, unimpressed.

Merlin smiled but kept an eye out for the thing. The water was placid, and there wasn’t any sign of the…

“Uh oh.”

“What do you mean, ‘uh oh?’” Arthur asked immediately.

Merlin swallowed, “Oh, nothing.”

“Don’t lie. ‘Fess up.”

“It’s not important, really,” he said, holding the torch with both hands, “there are just some footprints coming out of the water. See? nothing special.”

He pointed to the huge, club-shaped tracks that were pressed into the mud. Morgana visibly paled, and Arthur raised his sword.

“Say so sooner!” he hissed, “where is it?”

“I’ll tell you when I see it,” Merlin assured him, “trust me, I’ll scream or something. Here, take my torch. You’ll need it more than me.”

“Probably like a girl,” Arthur grumbled, grabbing it without complaint as they followed the footprints into the darkness.

“Oh no, not like a girl,” Merlin said, “I mean, I’m sure Morgana has a very brave scream. But I’ll be really shrill, or maybe just faint. Maybe I should whistle; do you think I should whistle, Arthur?”

“Since it would probably incapacitate the thing, go ahead,” Arthur replied distractedly, eyes on the path ahead of them.

Merlin knew he was babbling again, but it helped him stay calm. But why was he so freaked out? It was only a man-eating, disease-ridden monster Nimueh created to destroy Camelot, not anything _frightening_. And he had two monster-slayers with him, and a few dregs of magic left to use… oh, or not. He really had to get better at rationing his powers...

A faint breeze kicked up in the cavern, blowing dust into their faces. Merlin blinked the sand out of his eyes, unperturbed. Morgana and Arthur clutched their noses and gagged.

“Uhh, I think we’re getting close,” Morgana wheezed, “can’t you smell that Merlin?”

“Nope,” he said, “not a thing.”

“Well, you’re the lucky one then,” Arthur grumbled, “it’s worse than an open sewer over here. No wonder this thing creates a plague!”

Merlin shrugged, peering down the dark hallway worriedly. The grimy, mucky sensation of the creature was _really, really_ close by, but he wasn’t sure where…

The monster, a huge, hulking thing nearly as tall as Arthur, leapt out of the shadows like a dog, its wide, tooth-filled mouth agape. It lunged past Arthur, toward Morgana. _Better me than her_ , Merlin thought as he shoved her aside.

The whatever-it-was plowed him into the ground and clamped its jaw on his right arm. Merlin felt himself get dragged backward, into the dark, and it bite down on his arm hard. There was a horrible _crack_ as the ceramic coating on his arm was crushed, and the monster swiped him across the chest with one of its claws. Merlin heard something give and winced at the metallic screech its claws made on him.

“Let me go, you stupid--ARTHUR!” he called, and attempted a whistle as another chunk of his arm was mangled.

“Get off him!” Arthur roared, slashing at the mud monster. It reared back, letting go of Merlin’s arm. He quickly hid it behind his back, pretending not to notice the way it jerked and refused to move properly.

Arthur got a hit in, but the creature didn’t seem affected by it. Morgana appeared on its opposite side and thrust her sword into its back. Between the two of them, they had it skewered, but it didn’t seem to care.

Already the punctures in its hide were oozing over with mud, regenerating to full strength. Merlin shuddered at the cold, wet sensation of its magic, so similar to Nimueh’s spells. It was all mud and rot.

The creature roared, swiping at Arthur, who had to dive out of the way. The creature leapt out of the pincer, and made for the prince, teeth bared.

“Arthur, use the torch!” Merlin shouted, mustering the last of his magic for a final spell.

Arthur waved the flame in the creature’s face, and it shrunk back. He pressed his advantage, swinging the torch even closer as if he were wielding a club.

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, and he whispered to the wind for assistance. Morgana struck at the monster again, then backed off in alarm as a cold, underground wind billowed past, blowing the torch flames forward and onto the monster.

Its body caught alight like a candle wick, and it howled in frustration. Arthur pulled Morgana behind him in alarm, gaping at the sight. The mud-monster roared one last time, making a half-hearted swipe at the prince, then collapsed. The flames began to die, and in a matter of minutes, there was no trace of the beast at all.

“Amazing,” Morgana breathed.

“Yeah, and good riddance,” Merlin grumbled, trying to sit up properly. He gasped in shock as his arm gave out under him, and he fell back to the ground. “Oh, give me a break,” he muttered.

“Merlin--Merlin!” Arthur shouted in alarm, rushing to his side.

He dropped the torch beside them and pulled Merlin into his arms. Merlin covered his bad arm with the remains of his jacket and struggled to escape the position while keeping his injuries hidden. There was a strange clicking in his abdomen, and it was only thanks to his exceptionally baggy clothes that Arthur hadn’t noticed the damage there.

“I’m fine, I’m fine Arthur,” he said, “let go of me.”

“You’re not fine, you’re in shock,” Arthur retorted, “I saw it yank you around like a chew toy. Come on, show me.”

“No,” Merlin grit his teeth, curling into a ball.

“Merlin, come on--”

“No!” He said again, “I’m fine, I’m the picture of--”

Then his arm had to spasm uncontrollably, like he was fighting off pain (which he certainly _wasn’t_ ). Morgana gasped in fright, covering her mouth with a manicured hand, and Arthur went even paler than he already was.

“Not a big deal,” Merlin insisted, “I’ll be okay if you just let it be--”

“Let it be?” Arthur shouted, “Are you crazy? Morgana, go get Gaius!”

“No, Arthur, it’s fine--” he said,

“GO!”

Morgana ran from the corridor, headed for the secret passage. Merlin wanted to point out that it would be hard for her to get anywhere without a torch, but Arthur didn’t seem to be listening.

“You’ll be fine Merlin, I promise,” he said, looking pretty choked up, “it’s just a scratch.”

Well, it certainly _wasn’t_ a scratch, but Merlin would never tell him that.

“Yeah, see, no big deal,” Merlin said, slowly getting into a proper sitting position. “The thing just got my jacket, that’s all.”

And his arm, chest, and collarbone. Merlin was thankful the lighting was so poor, in case his faceplate had been cracked.

“Just a scratch from an extremely toxic, plague-ridden beast,” Arthur repeated, eyes widening.

Oh no, that wasn’t a good road for his thoughts to go down. Merlin tried to think of a way to distract him before he decided to--

“We need to clean the wound immediately!” He said.

...do that.

Merlin jerked away, saying it was fine again, But Arthur grabbed his sleeve and pulled up, prepared to see blood and mangled flesh.

Instead, there was a mess of delicate, metal wires and some cracked clay. It twinkled in the torchlight like a casket of jewels.


	11. I'm Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reveal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, yeah, so, sorry it took forever to get this written. After the emotional rollercoaster that was the Afanc arc, I couldn't handle writing the magic reveal--and that's not something to skimp on. Added to that was the problem that I forgot some major plot points (and an entire character) existed, so I had to revamp my outline. (Yes, there is an outline for this... in my head.)

_ Stop. Don’t think. Finish the report. _

Arthur did not stutter, he did not pause. He informed Uther of what happened in the catacombs without hesitation. Morgana’s eyes burned him from the dias, full of betrayal. He had wronged her, it seemed, but there was nothing else he could do. Not with Merlin--

_ Stop. Focus. Reiterate. _

Uther believed him, mostly. Morgana spoke up, her stinging words a defense of sorts. They would all breathe easy tonight; no more monsters under the castle. 

They were dismissed, thrown into the winds. Arthur marched out of the hall, hand on his sword. Morgana’s thin fingers wrapped around his arm when she caught him moments later. 

“What is wrong with you?” she hissed. “Was it all a lie?”

Arthur almost laughed. Lies? Oh, there were plenty of lies, but not regarding what Morgana was speaking of. 

“He wasn’t hurt,” he said stiffly, “just scared. I sent him home.”

Even through chainmail, Morgana’s fingernails were sharp. “And what, you just forgot to tell me?”

“Yes.” not a lie. 

Morgana pushed him away, face white with anger. On a scale of one to ten on the arse-chart, Arthur was earning a solid eleven. Morgana had wandered the catacombs for an hour looking for them, panicked and near hysterical, with several skeptical guards who would’ve carried Merlin to Gaius. But Merlin was long gone… Arthur made sure of that. 

 And after that hour of worry, she had come back to find Arthur in court, recounting his exploits without her, effectively cutting her out of any glory. 

He deserved that shove and several slaps. 

Morgana stormed off, refusing to even speak to the prince. Her pride had been wounded, yes, but also her trust. 

Arthur sighed, rubbed his brow, and set his shoulders. He repeated the mantra of  _ don’t think, don’t think _ in his head, but it was no use. The events of the day were already coming back to him like a bad cold.

 

***

 

Merlin yanked out of Arthur’s grasp. He held his arm to his chest, hiding the wires with what was left of his coat sleeve. His left hand, clenched over his wounded arm, looked pale and human. But his right hand was a mess of tattered metal and wire. Merlin could even see parts of the music box Nimueh had cannibalized poking out.

He pulled himself away from the prince with his good hand, scooting out of the flickering torchlight. The prince’s eyes were round like dinner plates and he was frozen with his hand still outstretched.

Stupid, stupid--this was so bad! Everything Nimueh had said about being found out flooded back to Merlin like water from a burst dam. He curled himself around his injuries as if he could shelter them from his friend’s eyes. How had this happened? He’d only wanted to help.

 

***

Arthur’s fingers buzzed with the slight chill from Merlin’s skin--something so normal he’d scarcely thought about it until now. And now… now he could not untangle his thoughts from their snarls.

He had a million questions; what was wrong with Merlin’s arm? Why was it metal? And so on. But the words died in his throat. Merlin was looking at him like he was dangerous, and that look wiped away everything except the one thing he really needed to know. 

Something about the way Merlin was curled inside himself, tensed in total fear, warned him that if he blundered this his friend would disappear forever. He had to handle this well, because--darn it--this was  _ Merlin _ and he couldn’t lose him, not after everything he’d done to keep him safe.

“Merlin, are you okay?” he asked, reaching for him.

The servant flinched away, holding his arm close like a shield. Arthur paused but did not retract his hand. The rejection made his chest sting.

“Merlin, are you alright?” he asked again, more slowly, “Are you hurt?”

Merlin did something that could either have been a nod or a shake. His jacket was rent from the wrist to his elbow, and metal poked out of the tear like bone. Hurt, definitely. In pain? Well, that was a bit more complicated...

“Merlin, talk to me,” Arthur said, letting a trace of worry line his voice. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing,” the manservant said finally, in a small voice, “I’m okay.”

“Stop lying,” he told him, carefully putting his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin’s eyes darted to his sword in alarm, and Arthur swallowed heavily. “I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”

Merlin’s breath hitched, and he looked away.

 “Nothing’s wrong,” he said quickly, “nothing! I’m fine, just fine. You can’t say I’m not, it only grabbed my sleeve, you didn’t see--”

“Merlin!” Arthur said, putting both hands on his servant’s shoulders, “Merlin, calm down, it’s alright. I just want to talk.”

Merlin shook like a mechanism that had been jammed. Arthur could hear an uneven clicking from his servant’s arm as it spasmed, and another, quieter  _ click, click _ from his heart. Why, he was so cold, so still, like a doll. A thread of realization ran through him like a basting stitch, but Arthur shook it away immediately.

“You’re alright, I promise,” he said again, putting his hand on the back of Merlin’s head. He pretended for a moment that it was warm, but couldn’t delude himself for long. His manservant wasn’t human; but Arthur couldn’t see a villain, just a scared kid with a mangled arm.

He pulled Merlin into his arms and whispered, “Nobody is going to hurt you, okay?”

The automaton sat frozen in his embrace, unsure of what he should do. Hesitantly, he put a trembling hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“T-They’re not?” he whispered brokenly. 

“No,” Arthur told him, “I’m going to keep you safe.”

Merlin clung to Arthur like he was the last man alive. The gears in his chest scraped together, tangling on broken springs. It was hard to breathe, harder to keep holding on, but he didn’t let go.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated into the prince’s shirt, voice muffled by the fabric.

Arthur tucked Merlin’s head into his shoulder, warm relief flowing through him. 

“Idiot,” he said softly, “stop crying. You’re such a girl.”

Merlin wasn’t a monster, just a fool of a servant with a big heart, and Arthur wasn’t going to let him be alone anymore.

 

***

 

Oh, it had been easy to think that earlier, before the lies and the responsibility weighed on him. Before he had to lie to his father again, knowing that he was obstructing justice, hiding a criminal. The acid on Uther’s tongue reminded him how thin the ice was now; how severe wound be his punishment should this ruse be uncovered?

_ Stop. Don’t think about that. Just don’t.  _

He had more pressing concerns. The plague was over, the prisoners released. Now all he had to worry about was...

The sound of running feet broke Arthur out of his concentration before he could finish the thought.

“Arthur! Arthur!”

He turned. Guinevere was running towards him, her cinnamon hair escaping its curls and flying like banners. Her dress still had hay on it from the dungeons, and her palms were dirty--soot. So she had disposed of the poultice after all. 

“What is it?” he asked as she caught her breath. She must have run all the way from her cell, which was several flights down. 

“I just--I mean--sorry, a moment your highness,” she begged, hands on her knees.

“No hurry,” he grimaced. Merlin was all alone right now, nestled in an alcove off the reservoir's beaten path; he had to make this quick. “I apologize for any mistreatment you may have suffered at the hands of the guards, ms. Guinevere.”

Gwen waved his apology away and stood up straight, face still pink from hurrying. “That’s fine, Prince Arthur, they were cordial, aside from--”

“What is it you need?” he interrupted, looking impatiently out the window. 

Gwen stepped closer--too close for propriety--and stared up at him in a panic. “Where’s Merlin?”

Arthur stepped back and began walking down the corridor. “He’s fine,” he said gruffly.

Gwen trailed after him, jogging to keep up with his long stride. 

“Please, I need to see him,” she said, “Is he alright? Does Uther know? what will--”

“My servant is no concern of yours Guinevere,” Arthur said, “I suggest you return to lady Morgana. She will be missing you.”

He’d hope to shake Gwen off, but the maidservant bolted in front of him and blocked the way. Her hands were balled into fists, and the look she gave him made Arthur instinctively step back.

“Not my concern?” she repeated hotly, “I’m his  _ friend _ Arthur, not some silly gossip who’s going to rat him out! You may be the prince but you have no right to tell me who I can care about. Where. Is. He?”

Arthur swallowed, thoroughly cowed. He lowered his head, but since Gwen was shorter than him she could easily see the conflict written across his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, placing a tired hand to his brow, “you’re right, it wasn’t my place. But I can’t tell you.”

For the first time in her life, Gwen considered slapping royalty. She only stopped because she doubted Arthur would tell her anything if he was nursing a broken nose. 

“Why not?” she demanded, settling for a challenging glare. 

Arthur considered her, small but fierce. He’d had to trust Gwen with the poultice, but how would she react if she found out the truth about Merlin? How many people could know about this before it blew up in their faces? That was the problem with lies and secrets; no matter how well hidden, they always resurfaced in the end. 

But if that was the case, how long would it be before Gwen found out anyway, and what would the circumstances be? 

_ I can’t trust anyone, _ Arthur thought tiredly,  _ I have no allies _ . Well, aside from Merlin and maybe,  _ maybe _ Leon, but that was a short list and Merlin was useless. 

But Gwen… he could trust Gwen, couldn’t he?   
“Your father is a blacksmith?” he asked suddenly, breaking the heavy silence. 

Gwen blinked at the sudden topic change. “Yes, but what--”

“And you know your way around metal?” he prodded.

“Arthur, what are you--” she began, but Arthur grabbed her hand and continued walking down the corridor.

“I need your help,” he said, “...and there’s something you need to see.”

 

***

 

Gwen and Arthur sat with Merlin in her bedroom waiting for him to speak. Tom’s condition had worsened in the dungeons and he’d been taken to Gaius immediately upon release. It would be a while before he was home, so they had the forge to themselves.

Merlin fiddled with the remains of his jacket, his wrecked arm in full view. The metal glinted dangerously in the afternoon light, and he wore an expression of resigned doom. 

Gwen stared at him with flabbergasted horror, still trying to process what she was seeing, and Arthur was slouched on a barrel, more tired than if he’d climbed Snowdon. It had been a long, long day.

Finally, Gwen broke the ice. Sadly she used a sledgehammer to do so. 

“You’re a doll,” she said. Merlin flinched, pulling what was left of his sleeve down. 

“Technically, it’s automaton,” he mumbled, “just wires and gears and…”

“Magic?” Arthur finished. 

“What, magic, I don’t have the foggiest--” Merlin yelped automatically, before Gwen coughed. 

“We know Merlin,” she said gently, putting a tentative hand on his good arm. 

Merlin made a strangled squeaking noise and looked between her and Arthur in alarm. 

“But--how?” he asked. 

“The poultices,” she said, “it wasn’t hard to guess.”

“And you weren’t exactly subtle, using your neckerchief like that,” Arthur added grumpily. “You’re lucky only me, Leon, and Gwen saw it.”

Merlin’s good arm fluttered to the rag on his neck--a faded blue. His mouth hung open in surprise. “I didn’t--I mean, that’s wasn’t what I--”

“You didn’t even realize?” Arthur groaned, putting his head in his hands, “Merlin, what am I going to do with you?”

Merlin tried to tense, shrug, and laugh at the same time, but the result was a sudden spasm due to jammed gears. 

“Here, let me look at that,” Gwen said, prying apart his metal fingers to get a look at the damage. Her background as a blacksmith’s daughter was the main reason Arthur brought her down to the reservoir; he couldn’t even hope to fix Merlin on his own. 

“This is incredible,” she breathed, “Arthur, get a look at this.”

The prince got up and sat on the bed by Merlin, taking a hesitant glance down at his mangled arm. The gears clicked off and on, unable to rotate, and a small snarl of wires had been ripped apart. It was sickening to look at because they’d been arranged to mimic human muscles and veins. 

Now that the illusion was shattered, Arthur noticed how Merlin’s skin was too perfect and smooth--a ceramic shell covering the delicate parts--and the glassy sheen in Merlin’s eyes actually  _ was _ glass. And, if he listened really, really closely, there was the telltale whirring of what might have been a heart in Merlin’s chest. 

“Metal can’t even be welded this way,” Gwen continued, “how is this possible? Who  _ made _ you?”

Merlin fiddled with the hem of his shirt, oddly silent. 

Arthur recalled how his earlier question about living arrangements, back when he was trying to find a place to hide Merlin, had been ignored and decided to put his foot down. 

“Merlin, we need answers,” he said, putting a hand on the servant’s shoulders, “can you tell us just what the hell--pardon me, Gwen. Can you tell us about yourself?”

The cagey, desperate look appeared on Merlin’s face again and Gwen clasped his hands, smiling to reassure him. The automaton looked away guiltily. 

“You won’t like it,” he said, reminding Arthur of the conversation and ensuing hug incident from a month ago.

“Merlin,” he said, suddenly cross (no doubt from remembering said hug), “I discovered you had magic, killed a lump of sentient mud, happened to notice you’re, in fact, made of metal--thanks for mentioning that on your job application, by the way-- and lied my arse off to my dad to stop you from getting arrested or dismantled  _ three times _ today. I can guarantee that whatever you’re about to tell me won’t be as bad as that.”

“Yes, and my day hasn’t been a picnic either,” Gwen added, looking ruefully at the two of them, “I’ve been arrested, accused of witchcraft, put on death row, and found out my best friend isn’t human. It’s been a long day and I’m not putting up with any more secrets.” she leveled a hardy glare at Merlin, “I dare you to shock me Merlin, because after everything I’ve been through,  _ nothing _ will.

A hint of mischief echoed in Merlin’s eyes, and a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. 

“Challenge accepted,” he said and told his story. 


	12. There's so Much I've Done and it was All to Hurt You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Right, so I hate it when stories just skip over important conversations (like reveals *cough cough*) and this is kind of one of those talks.
> 
> Sooo....have fun with this?

 

Merlin hadn’t been sure where to start, and he woefully wished that Arthur had paid more attention in his history lessons. As it was, he spent a couple of minutes giving a brief overview of Cornelius Sigan and his era, where clockwork and automatons were more than a passing fancy. Back then it wasn’t uncommon for a lord to have whole rooms dedicated to displaying their mages’ creations. Simple things mostly, like mechanical nightingales.

He hesitated when it was time to tell them why he was created, but Gwen’s worried gaze spurred him on. He was a vessel for Sigan’s soul--a plot that had been maddeningly close to completion. Not much thought went into constructing his persona--it was just a safety measure to keep the body prepared for his master and hadn’t been expected to develop further than that. The fact Merlin existed at all was a curious miracle nobody but him appreciated, and Merlin was all too aware that he would’ve disappeared without a trace if Sigan’s soul had come calling. He was just a placeholder, after all.

“That’s horrible!” Gwen gasped, squeezing his hand. 

A few months ago Merlin would have been confused over her reaction. There was nothing strange about following through on his purpose, and he was just a spare. But now, after battling with Nimueh and looking out for Arthur for so long, he shared Gwen’s sentiments. There were people he cared for and the thought of never seeing them again made him sad. 

Nimueh was right; he really was becoming human. What foolishness was next; sleeping? Eating?

Arthur, for his part, sat in thoughtful silence, eyes lingering on the exposed gears the mud-beast had mangled. His expression was the one he wore at council meetings when he was cataloging information to use at a later date. It made Merlin nervous, but he continued his explanation of magic, and how Sigan’s had been transferred (for the most part) to him, to wait for the return of its original caster. 

That part of his story was simple. Explaining the history and his origin took a little creativity since neither Gwen nor Arthur was exceptionally knowledgeable about old sorcerers, but it was old hat for Merlin. He knew things about his master, and the time he lived, based on conversations and snippets he’d overheard from his creators. The long hours spent stretched out on tables, half-constructed, and only vaguely aware of what being ‘alive’ meant, was unpleasant, to say the least (and his nights were filled with living nightmares about those times because he never was good at controlling the direction of his thoughts). But, at the very least, those memories were coming in handy now. 

Telling Arthur and Gwen that he’d been revived by a vengeful sorceress bent on using him to kill the Pendragons was another matter, and he found himself unwilling to spill the beans. 

Would Arthur still keep his secret if he knew that Merlin had been after his head? Or that half the time he’d spilled wine or tripped over something it was so he’d ‘accidentally’ drop the poison Nimueh had given him? He was lucky enough that Arthur had covered for him so much already--and to his father no less!--but he didn’t want to push his luck. 

And… he didn’t want to admit to one of his only friends that so much of their relationship had been a lie. 

So, when he reached the part of his story where he was collecting dust in the catacombs, he paused. The possibility of lying was so tempting, and he could see how much better it would be if he did. Surely they didn’t need to know about Nimueh’s plots, or how she’d manipulated him into helping her. Yes, there had been a spell of obedience cast on him so he’d had no choice, but he’d treated her like family. She used him, but the worst part was that he’d let her do so. He’d wanted to be useful so bad that he’d agreed to kill two people and endanger a kingdom for her, all because he was lonely. He’d been selfish.

How could Arthur forgive him for that?

“Merlin?” Gwen asked softly, her hand on his. 

Merlin realized he’d been quiet for several minutes, lost in his thoughts. He winced, wishing he could be somewhere else for a while to collect himself. 

Gwen looked at Arthur, concerned. Merlin had ended his creation tale abruptly, with him trapped under the castle in a locked room. And then he’d stopped, just stopped dead in his tracks with an expression of distraught hopelessness staining his face. 

The prince swallowed, groped for something to say but found nothing.

“Merlin,” Gwen said again, and he looked up at her with tumultuous eyes, “you can stop if you want. We won’t force you to talk if it’s painful.”

Never mind they’d done just that to get him to tell his doggone story, but Gwen was sincere. She’d make Arthur understand too, one way or another. It looked like Merlin was about to break. 

Rather than comfort Merlin, Gwen’s offer was like a weight bearing down on his shoulders with the force of a falling chandelier. He couldn’t lie to his friends. He’d done too much of that already. He had to tell the truth… even if it meant ruining the one good thing he’d ever had. 

“I’m sorry!” he said, covering his face in both hands. His ruined fingers dug into his faceplate like nails. His words rushed out of him in a hurricane, fast and imprecise. “It’s all my fault--I was an idiot. N-Nimueh found me and told me she’d help and  _ I’d been alone so long _ I just wanted a friend, so I listened and ruined everything. Don’t hate me, please don’t hate me, it was just so dark down there and she was like a light; I should’ve known better--Arthur please, I didn’t want to, not really. I tried to say no.”

He shuddered, metal nerves taut as violin strings. He didn’t dare look up at his prince; didn’t want to see the betrayal that would be written on his face. 

There was silence for a few moments, then a quiet voice spoke. It wasn’t Gwen’s.

“Merlin, what are you talking about?” 

He felt himself curl up, leaning down to the floor. He was still covering his face with his hands, trapping himself in darkness that was claustrophobic but familiar. Gwen’s hand was on his back, smooth and strong. 

He bit his lip and let his fingers curl around his raven locks, trying to dampen down his jumble of guilt-ridden nonsense so he could explain his sins in a way that made sense. 

“S-She woke me up; that’s why I’m in Camelot now. Nimueh was--is--a sorceress, and she wanted to use me. I should’ve known better but... it’d been so long, and I was  _ so lonely _ that I let her direct me like a puppet. I just needed somebody to be there, and nobody was until she came.”

He looked at Arthur, hands lowered enough to bare his eyes. His face must have been a sight, because the prince froze; something like shock was written on his face at the sight of his servant’s expression. 

“I’m sorry Arthur,” was all he said. 

Thick, heaviness hung in the air like humidity as the three of them sat there, in a back room behind the blacksmith’s forge. Merlin pulled his head back into his hands, retreating into some private misery. Gwen kept her hand on his back, sharing worried and wretched faces with Arthur. 

Merlin’s despair was palpable and it tasted like rust and lead. The humans were wary of it, but cared enough to want to know why it was there. 

Arthur was not an expert on emotions, but he understood subconsciously what it was like to be damned by misdeeds. That familiarity gave him an edge, and he found himself nodding at the raw, disjointed story Merlin had spouted.

He didn’t move closer, didn’t try to comfort Merlin, because he needed all the facts. He couldn’t help without all the facts. 

“Merlin,” he said softly (softly because Merlin flinched when he spoke), “how long were you in the catacombs before she found you?”

The automaton shrugged noncommittally.

“I dunno, three hundred years?”

Gwen gave a small gasp and leaned into Merlin, giving him a warm half-hug. Arthur could not see his face, but the automaton tilted closer to the embrace. 

And she let you out, this Nimueh?” he continued, dimly remembering Merlin mentioning her once or twice. 

Merlin nodded, bracing for accusations and the eventual death penalty. 

Arthur sighed. “And you said she’s a sorcerer?”

He flinched and nodded again.

The prince gave him a look that was a mix between exasperated and accepting. Exasperated because Merlin was acting like it was the end of the world, and calm because, as he put it, “I can’t really blame you for trusting her.”

Merlin’s jaw dropped and he stared shamelessly at Arthur while he processed it. 

“What?” the prince said, raising an eyebrow. 

“But--I mean--how?” Merlin sputtered. “I followed orders--I broke the law!”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “You were all alone down there, just existing, for so many years. We don’t do it much, but there are prisoners in Camelot in solitary confinement… They often go mad. There’s nothing in those cells besides the rats and the dark and the damp. If I was one of them, I don’t think I would last, and if somebody came and offered to get me out, show me the sun again… well, could I refuse?”

Merlin looked ready to cry. “But--but I… I should have known better.”

Gwen stepped in, speaking softly. “Merlin, you were trapped in a cage as soon as you were created, with no contact with anybody for  _ centuries. _ Of course you didn’t know anything; how could you?”

Merlin pulled his good hand into a fist, his right hand spasming as it tried to do the same. His teeth ground together in frustration because she was right but it did not excuse him. 

“Just who is Nimueh?” Arthur asked, trying to get Merlin’s thoughts away from isolation and loneliness. It wasn’t the best topic to choose, but it was something he needed to know. “Why did she want to use you--how did she even find out about you?”

Merlin wondered when his emotions would finally run out and leave him a hollow shell. When all these panics and fears would dull into ambivalence so he wouldn’t care about friends or trauma, or the searching glances Arthur and Gwen were giving him. He wondered if it was even possible to stop feeling. 

“Nimueh is a high priestess of the Old Religion,” he said, sinking deeper into his slouch, “she hates your father and all of Camelot. I don’t know why, except that she was driven out before the Purge… All her friends died once it started.”

She’d told him all this the night he’d been awakened, weaving an elaborate tale of justice and righteous fury. He’d been sympathetic to her pain, eager to please. Now he looked back and saw the poison in her eyes and the carefully crafted words that hid her own villainy, painting her as only a victim in a long series of scuffles with the crown. 

“I think she learned about me from old scrolls. Most of the documents from Sigan’s time are lost, but the druids have more resources than they let on,” he continued. “Once she heard about my magic she tracked me down, walked through the labyrinth of passages, dark and half-collapsed tombs under Camelot, found the crypt of dolls I’d been abandoned in, and woke me up.

I...I could hardly believe it when she appeared, and when her magic poured, making my gears turn for the first time since I was made, it was like--like…” he searched for a good, human analogy, “like breathing for the first time. And that was better than anything; I would do anything for her… and I nearly did.”

He didn’t want to imagine what would’ve happened if her spell had been stronger, able to dampen the morality he’d somehow kept throughout his isolation. As it was, he’d nearly forgotten it on his own.

Merlin didn’t dare look at his friends as he continued his story. His throat felt tight (it was only psychological, but still) and he clenched and unclenched his fingers in an attempt to relieve the tension. 

“I didn’t question her, not really. I might have asked some questions--why she was going to such extremes, and if there was any other way--but she told me not to think, and I wanted to listen… it didn’t seem strange at the time, but I  _ liked _ to think and so I would anyway when she wasn’t watching, and eventually--” as in, last night. “--I realized that I wasn’t agreeing with her because I  _ wanted _ to, but because she’d enchanted me to do so.”

Gwen’s hand curled into a fist on his back, and he knew without looking that her face would be murderous. Arthur’s was the same, though he didn’t know it. Merlin, enchanted.  _ Merlin _ , sweet carefree Merlin without an ounce of evil in him, taken advantage of by a hateful sorceress. It was wrong--violently, irrevocably  _ wrong. _

“What did she make you do?” Arthur asked quietly, too quietly. 

Merlin breathed shakily, upset by the change in atmosphere. 

“I’m sorry,” he said meekly, “I’m so sorry--I didn’t get it, but I was so close. I should have resisted better, but I didn’t  _ know _ \--”

“Merlin, what did she make you do?” he asked again. 

Merlin crumpled, pulling his hair and hating himself. But he gathered the remains of his resolve and looked at his prince; with a small, pained whisper that broke Gwen’s heart, he said, “kill you.”

Arthur felt a sting run along his spine, causing the world to momentarily tilt. Then he was grounded again, but too shocked to move. 

“What?” he said.

Merlin looked down at his hands, which had fallen limply into his lap. Yes, he was starting to feel the drain he’d been wishing for. He’d said it, admitted his secret to the one person he’d wanted to hide it from at all costs. The coil of desperation inside him loosened because there was no running now. He couldn’t worry anymore; Arthur would take care of him one way or another. The thought was oddly and dispassionately relieving. 

“She told me to murder you,” he said blankly, “and your father. She hates both of you, but she can’t get close to you on her own, so she needed me… And I’m the perfect tool; controllable, loyal, inhuman. Could you ask for a better assassin?”

He smiled like it was a good joke, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“I didn’t think it was right, but Nimueh knew best, she always said so, and when I was with her everything made sense. I had a purpose and--and I thought,” he stuttered, shuddered, blinked like there were tears in his glass eyes, “I thought she could be my family. So I listened.”

Arthur curled his fingers around the bed frame, hating this woman for making Merlin this way; his servant--his  _ friend _ \--was supposed to smile no matter what, whistle like a demon from hell, and brighten the darkest day like a ball of sunshine. He shouldn’t be doubled over, cowering from his friends like they would hurt him. 

“I was supposed to poison Uther at that feast,” Merlin continued, eyes misted over as he relieved his memories, “I had a vial of something awful mixed into the wine… It would have been painful, but then those men came and shot at you and I was moving and I  _ ruined my chance _ .”

He broke off and sniveled, hugging himself. “Nimueh was angry.”

Gwen and Arthur couldn’t move, too afraid to rouse Merlin out of this twisted tale. It was horrible, it was deranged, but they had to know what happened next.

Merlin blinked frowning suddenly and he looked ruefully at Arthur for a moment. “You’re a terrible master to serve, you know.”

Well, that was quite the switch. 

“You’re mean, arrogant, and selfish. Nimueh said I had to stay close to you though, so I didn’t quit. Once enough time had passed I could kill you, she said. Sometimes that didn’t sound to bad.”

He rubbed his arm and scowled. Arthur had a feeling he was remembering their ‘training sessions.’

“But… you’re not terrible,” Merlin muttered, “you can be rude and oblivious, but you’re also nice and determined and caring… you don’t deserve to die.”

He shifted in his chair, getting agitated. The bedframe creaked. 

“I told Nimueh so, asked if we could just kill your father--she said he was a real monster, and I don’t know him well enough to know if he’s not--but she didn’t listen, and disobeying Nimueh hurts, I think.”

“You think?” Gwen breathed.

Merlin blinked blankly, cocking his head to one side, “well, it’s what I imagine pain feels like, anyway. I don’t actually feel things like that.”

His hand went absently to his heart cavity, the empty chamber where Sigan’s soul would be put. It still bothered him that there was nothing there; it was a reminder that no matter how human he looked, inside he was hollow.

“You don’t know how close I came to murdering you over the last few months, do you Arthur?” he sighed, not bothering to wait for an answer, “For a prince, you’re pathetically easy to kill.”

“Hey, I’m still here aren’t I?” he grumbled, “so it’s not like you did a very good job.”

“No, I really didn’t,” Merlin smiled proudly. “I just must not be cut out for murder.”

It made Gwen and Arthur smile despite themselves, to see Merlin’s child-like glee sneak past the distress he was feeling. And it was comforting to know that, even enchanted, he didn’t do as he was told. 

Merlin fiddled with the hem of his shirt. After a moment, Gwen broke the silence. 

“So… are you still controlled by Nimueh?” she asked, eyes flickering to Arthur for the briefest of seconds. 

Merlin shook his head, concentrating on rubbing his shirt’s hemline harder. 

“No, I broke the spell when I figured out it was blocking my magic. It was very nasty, but I had to make those poultices,” he said. 

Arthur felt a glow of pride for Merlin, finally free, then did the math in his head and took it all back. “That was last night! Are you seriously telling me you stayed enchanted that long?”

“I know!” Merlin groaned, “I should have noticed, but it made me trust her, and I couldn’t think too hard about anything without having my thoughts redirected. I could only untangle the magic because it was wearing out, and it was  _ really _ hard. High priestesses have strong magic, you know.”

“Don’t worry, you did great,” Gwen soothed, rubbing her hand across Merlin’s back in wide circles. “I’m very proud of you.”

“Even though you used your own neckerchiefs for the poultices,” Arthur added wryly. 

“Hey, only one!” Merlin piped up, “aren’t you going to let that go?”

Arthur scowled. “No.”

“Yeah, you and Nimueh both…” the automaton muttered. “You should have seen her face when she…”

He clammed up as they tensed, eyes darting between them before settling back on the floor. “Sorry.”

“No, no Merlin, we’re not upset,” Gwen said. The ‘ _ at you’ _ went unspoken, but was clearly there. “Can you--do you feel comfortable telling us what happened?”

Merlin thought about the crushing despair he’d felt down in the crypt when Nimueh tried to enscroll him again. About the invasive, angry magic that seared through him like a brand, and her smile when she looked at him like he was just another thing to ruin. 

“Not really,” he said, “she wasn’t very nice.”

Understatement of the century, but the wounds were too fresh to reopen. He’d given enough of their relationship away for Arthur and Gwen to piece things together if they wished, and that’s what they’d have to do for now.

“She was the one who made that thing in the reservoir,” he said, “Apparently I wasn’t doing a quick enough job killing you and your dad, so she took matters into her own hands.”

“That’s awful,” Gwen said, looking queasy. 

Merlin nodded morosely. “I couldn’t believe it, but she wouldn’t call it off… so I made her stop.”

“Is she..?” Arthur asked, looking at Merlin uncertainly. 

“No,” Merlin said honestly, “when I left she was unconscious, probably concussed. She’s definitely alive though.”

Arthur sighed, glad Merlin hadn’t killed her and a little annoyed she was still around. Vengeful sorcerers were dangerous; old, psychotic ones doubly so. 

“I couldn’t kill her,” Merlin said defensively, “killing is wrong, and even she doesn’t deserve--”

“I know, I know,” Arthur said, putting his hands up, “but she’s going to come back.”

Merlin’s face fell and he nodded tiredly. He didn’t know what Nimueh would do next, but she was sneaky. He probably wouldn’t find out until it was too late, and by then… well, it would be too late. 

“At least you’re away from her,” Gwen said gently, giving him a warm smile, “and we’ve got you. Don’t worry Merlin, you’re safe now, I promise. We’ll keep your secret to the grave.”

A surge of affection warmed Merlin from the inside. He looked at Arthur for confirmation and the prince gave him a wry grin. Friends… he had friends; they knew what he was and they weren’t leaving. For the first time since Arthur had seen his arm he felt hope, bright and growing. Suddenly, despite everything, his life didn’t seem so bad. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies for delays. My excuse is that a certain fic (glares at ibelieve_whiteflag_aslansdefender) made me unable to write for a while, especially emotional scenes. Thanks, friend. 
> 
> I promise fluff will come soon...at least, I've been telling myself that. &gazes into distance longingly* Oh fluff, how I miss thee...


	13. To the Breach Once More!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do with a damaged automaton anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay, a quick update! 
> 
> Or not 'yay,' because this is the end of my buffer. It's been hard writing the last couple chapters, hence the sporadic updates. *winces* my bad, sorry. Life 'n' all that. Hopefully, I'll get more of this done, but I'm running out of time.

 

The rest of the afternoon was spent figuring out what to do next. Gwen coaxed Merlin into letting her examine his arm and explain the rudiments of the mechanics. It was more advanced than she was used to, but she was sure she could forge some of the simpler parts. Merlin was reluctant to venture down to the catacombs on the chance that Nimueh was still down there, which limited their ability to fix him up. 

Arthur was more concerned with where Merlin would stay now that his hidey-hole was a no-go. Merlin would’ve been fine with wandering the corridors or cloistering himself in alcoves every night, but both Arthur and Gwen vehemently opposed that. 

“You are  _ not _ going to be homeless Merlin,” Arthur said, trying to explain (for what felt like the thousandth time) that that wasn’t okay. 

“People need places of their own to rest,” Gwen added.

“I’m not a person so you don’t need to worry about where I live; I don’t even need to eat; it’s not a problem.” he insisted. 

Arthur groaned and stomped his foot. Gwen decided to try a different tactic.

“Merlin, you’re our friend and we’d worry about you regardless,” she said, “Besides, it’s rather hard to keep track of you if you don’t have a home, and we probably wouldn’t get to see you as much. Wouldn’t you like it if I could visit you?”

Merlin paused, liking this possibility very much.

“I guess that would be nice,” he admitted, “But where can I stay? I’m not exactly… normal.”

They looked down at the severed wires tangled in his arm and winced. It was too damaged to hide.

“The servant quarters are out.” Arthur said, “there’s no privacy there.”

The servants slept by the stoves, or in large halls where they’d share space with twenty or thirty others. Only the high ranking servants got their own rooms, and even then only the older ones. Merlin hadn’t pushed the issue, and it was assumed he already had a place of residence. Getting a room in the castle right now could bring unwanted attention; something none of them could afford.

“Can’t I stay with Gwen?” Merlin asked, “I’d be right by the forge.”

Arthur’s raised eyebrows and Gwen’s shocked face answered that question. Merlin looked confused at the sudden silence… Great, another social convention he wasn’t aware of.

“Merlin, as much as I’d enjoy your company, I don’t think my father would approve,” she said tactfully, “...Arthur, what about your antechamber? We could set him up there and make a workshop of it.”

This time it was Merlin and Arthur who were shaking their heads.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Arthur told her, “but my chambers aren’t as private as one would think. I’m always getting knights, pages, and lords popping in on official business--not to mention my father. If they find so much as a stray gear they’ll make mention of it, and if there’s something suspicious--say a thousand spare parts lying around--there could be an investigation.”

Merlin shivered at the thought. Uther’s cold, unforgiving eyes burned behind his eyelids. Gwen, who’d been on the receiving end of one of these ‘investigations’ paled as well.

“It doesn’t help that the antechamber is right off the main room,” Merlin added quietly, “you can see the inside from the hallway.”

Gwen sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Well then, what do we do? We need a place to fix you up Merlin, and the forge is just too public. I can make parts, but that’s about it. My father will notice if I do much else.”

“Sorry,” Merlin said.

“It’s not your fault there’s a homicidal sorceress in the tombs,” Arthur said glibly, “if we could get in there I wouldn’t be worried as much. Are there a lot of spare parts?”

“Tons,” Merlin chirped, “Nimueh’s been scraping the other automatons for months. They’re all the prototypes Sigan made before I was completed. It’d be easy to fix myself down there; I’m used to making repairs… although I haven’t been damaged this badly before.”

He looked down at his chest. Gwen and Arthur hadn’t seen the damage there yet, but Merlin could tell it was extensive. The incessant clicking and whirring was a pretty good indicator.

“I could go down there and flush her out,” Arthur murmured, hand on his chin, “get the jump on her while she’s injured.”

“No, you can’t, she’s dangerous!” Merlin panicked, “you haven’t seen Nimueh in action Arthur; her magic is no joke.”

“All the more reason to get her while she’s weak,” he countered, “we don’t know what she’s planning next, and if you want to use that arm we need to go down there anyway. I can take some knights with me--tell them it was an anonymous tip--and get it done without my father knowing about until after the fact.”

“That could work,” Gwen nodded, warming to this idea, “even a high priestess will have trouble against a regiment of Camelot’s finest! Oh, and once she’d gone I’ll be able to make molds out of the pieces to reproduce them! Well, some of them anyway. Sorry Merlin, but I don’t think I can smelt metal like they did in Sigan’s time; a lot of those techniques have been lost.”

“No, that’s okay,” he said automatically, then shook his head, “but Arthur, you can’t do this.”

Arthur sighed long and hard, then asked Merlin in a slightly patronizing tone, “And why’s that Merlin? Am I too delicate or something?”

Merlin wanted to roll his eyes and say yes; that Nimeuh had enough power to kick him into next week without breaking a sweat but gathered that the prince would take that as a challenge.

“Because,” he said tightly, “those prototypes I mentioned? They look just like me. Anybody with half a brain will know I’m an automaton once they get a gander.”

Gwen’s face fell and Arthur swore under his breath. Merlin squirmed, but before he could apologize Arthur pointed an accusing finger at him. 

“Don’t you dare say sorry,” he said, “it’s not your fault and that’s final. And we’re still going down there… we’re just going to need to be a bit creative, that’s all.”

“Really, creative?” Merlin deadpanned, glaring at the finger, “there’s a sorceress in your basement that can pulverize you with a few words, and there’s no way you can fight Nimueh without your men trussing me up and handing me over to Uther. There’s enough magical contraband in that room to make the vaults look tame.”

Merlin’s shoulders slumped, if possible, further as he sighed, “We should probably just give up.”

Gwen grabbed him by the cheeks and spun him around. Merlin squeaked and she glared at him with fierce protectiveness. 

“Don’t you dare say that!” She said, “We’re going to help you, whether you like it or not, so stop being such a thundercloud! Have a little faith in us.”

“But Nimueh--” he began.

“But Nimueh what?” Gwen’s eyes flashed dangerously, “If she so much as lays a  _ finger _ on you I’ll bruise her bloody, and that’s a promise. I don’t need magic to look after you and Arthur doesn’t need a fancy regiment to take her down.”

As much as Merlin wanted to believe that, he couldn’t buy it. Nimueh had brought Camelot to its knees with one spell; a lone knight would be child’s play.

Arthur, however, had no trouble imagining Gwen socking Nimueh in the face, and it gave him a warm, fuzzy feeling to do so. She was a fighter alright.

“A smaller force might be better,” he said, nodding gratefully to the blacksmith’s daughter, “we could get in and out unnoticed, for one. I want as few people to know about this as possible.”

“I’ll grab my hammer,” Gwen said, bustling out of the room. 

Once she was gone Merlin whirled on Arthur. 

“You can’t be serious!” he exclaimed, “You are  _ not _ going down there right now, Arthur Pendragon. And there’s no way I’m letting you take Gwen either; she’ll be killed!”

“Gwen is a fierce woman,” Arthur said, recalling her earlier anger, “and besides, I’ll be there to take any hits aimed at her. This plate armor is good at that.”

Merlin shook his fist at Arthur, wishing he could use both hands and throttle the prince. Sending Morgana, the lady of steel, to fight a monster was one thing, but Gwen was almost dead yesterday from the plague! She was too precious to fight! 

He was about to lay into the prince when Gwen came back, toting a hammer he’d seen Tom use in the forge. Its edge was blunt and hardened from countless hours pounding steel and looked a little too comfortable in her hands. 

Merlin rounded on her instead.

“Gwen, you can’t go!” he pleaded, “she’ll kill you, or worse, lecture  _ then _ kill you! I couldn’t bear that to happen to you.”

Gwen sighed, blowing an errant strand of hair out of her face. “I’m not letting Arthur go alone, and he’s going to need all the help he can get.”

“Then… I’ll come with him!”

“You can only use one arm,” Arthur interjected.

“Shut up prat,” Merlin snapped, then turned back to Gwen with puppy-dog eyes. “Gwen, you’re my best friend, please don’t do this. I want you to be safe.”

Gwen was unmoved. 

“Merlin,” she said, “I’m glad you care about me, but there’s no way I’m going to sit around and twiddle my thumbs while that witch is on the loose. Unlike most maids, I’m not weak or defenseless, so don’t treat me like I am. Now, I’m going to go with you and Arthur, find Nimueh, and smash this hammer into her head. Understand?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, mostly in appreciation, and thanked whatever god had kept him (mostly) off Gwen’s blacklist. 

“...Fine, but I still don’t like it,” Merlin grumbled, glaring at Arthur like it was his fault. “The prat is the only one who can fight, and Nimueh has a vendetta against him. She’ll go after him in a heartbeat, and I don’t think that hammer is very good against spells.”

Gwen pursed her lips, hating that it was true despite her bravado. Morgana had shown her  _ some _ tricks with swords, but she wasn’t an expert. At best she’d get one shot at the sorceress before the fireballs started to fly.

“Well, we don’t have anybody else,” she said finally, “you, me, and Arthur are the only ones who know about this. If we tell anyone else they’ll hang us all!”

“Wrong,” Arthur said, steepling his fingers.

He’d had a sudden and brilliant revelation. All at once, he knew exactly what to do. Merlin wouldn’t like it--Gwen probably wouldn’t either--but it solved all their problems. That is if he could play his cards right.

“What?” Gwen and Merlin said together, looking at him in confusion.

He looked up at them. It wasn’t a smile (definitely not) but Merlin recognized the glint in Arthur’s eye from whenever he’d beat Uther in chess; the thrill of solving a puzzle and getting all the pieces in place. 

“There’s someone else we can ask,” he said. 

 

***

 

If Leon thought it was odd that his prince and the local blacksmith’s daughter wanted him to come with them down to the forgotten levels of the catacombs with a shifty manservant nursing a badly wrapped arm, fully armed and likely never to return, he did not show it. 

Arthur envied that man’s stoicism. 

Merlin eyed the knight warily, not ready to trust him. They hadn’t told Leon that Merlin was an automaton--they hadn’t told him anything and neither had he asked. 

Gwen had been hesitant to agree to this, but she couldn’t deny that the ginger-haired knight was the only reason she and Merlin weren’t swinging on the gallows. He was also an esteemed swordsman, and they’d need lots of skill to defeat Nimueh. 

As for Merlin, he was one step away from another panic attack. He barely even  _ knew _ Leon, and now the knight seemed to know all his secrets. 

Arthur felt all their eyes on him as he led the way down to the crypt, confidently walking past some guards and avoiding others. Once they were far enough down he passed the torch to Merlin, who held it gingerly in his good hand. 

“Alright, lead the way,” he told him.

Merlin nodded, eyes flickering to Leon doubtfully, and led them down a series of winding, half-collapsed passageways Arthur never knew existed. The air smelled stale, and their shoes were caked in chalky dust. The doors they passed were rusted shut and sealed behind iron bars, but they were few. 

The closer they got to the crypt the more nervous Merlin became. The torch shook in his hand, sputtering dangerously low. Gwen put a hand on his shoulder and murmured soothing nonsense while Leon and Arthur kept wary eyes on the shadows. 

Finally, they arrived at a dead end. The passageway ended in an old rockfall that had nearly covered the wrought iron door nearby. A path had been cleared through the rubble, and Arthur could see evidence of recent use; the door was ajar, dust disturbed. There was even a drop of blood on one of the stones. 

“This is it,” Merlin said needlessly. He looked eerily pale in the torchlight, “right over there.”

Arthur nodded, throat dry. Gwen tightened her grip on the hammer, anger giving way to trepidation. Leon silently drew his sword and awaited orders. 

“Look for a woman--a sorceress,” Arthur told him, “she’s dangerous. We  _ must _ stop her.”

Leon nodded and, without any warning, darted inside.

Arthur ran after him, slightly less graceful, and held his sword high as he stepped into the chamber. Gwen came behind him, and Merlin’s torchlight--brighter than the dying flames in the hearth--illuminated the scene.

He didn’t know what he had been expecting; Merlin said he’d been down in the crypts, and that it was a workroom, but he hadn’t described the bizarre  _ wrongness _ it emanated. 

Shelves were lined up along the walls, displaying half-finished automatons frozen in position. Their faces, if recognizable, were all delicate silvers and jewel eyes, staring emptily at one another, and there were uncountable hands grasping at the air like it would save them from drowning. A slab of stone lurked in the center of the loom, under an old chandelier, more like a pagan altar than a work table. A red stain was darkening to rusty brown on one of its corners.

But there was no sorceress standing by the cauldron, no diabolical mastermind plotting sinister deeds. There was just the dust, the gears, and the disconcerting emptiness of a thousand glass eyes. 

Nimueh was gone. 

 

***

 

“I don’t understand,” Merlin said, staring at the empty room, “she was right here.”

“Well, obviously she isn’t now,” Arthur replied, scanning the darkened corners just in case. “Leon, secure the area.”

His first knight nodded, staring blankly at the automatons. He looked paler than usual, and it set off his hair and freckles like sparks from a fire. 

_ Maybe I should have told him more _ , Arthur thought belatedly. He hadn’t wanted to waste time and figured it’d be fine, but he’d relied too much on Leon’s usual composure. Obviously, the revelation that Merlin wasn’t human was hitting him harder than the fact he had magic.

“Leon?” Arthur said when the knight stayed frozen, “Leon!”

He startled, stared at Merlin, then shook himself into motion, walking mechanically through the rest of the chamber. Merlin cringed (very un-mechanically) and hovered near the door, ready to bolt.

Well, this sucked. 

“Where do you think she’s gone?” he asked his manservant. “Are there any other places she stays?”

Merlin frowned and shook his head. “Not that I know of, but she didn’t trust me with anything.”

Right. Well, that made things harder.

“Think she’ll come back?” he asked.

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Merlin said exhaustedly. “Maybe.”

They jumped as Gwen started moving automatons around, searching through the jumbles of spare parts. Her lips were pursed as she inspected them, selecting less damaged dolls.

Merlin went to help, murmuring advice over the different models. He knew which parts he needed, or how to alter his mechanics to fit the ones available. 

Leon came back and shook his head--no sorceress. He stepped over to Arthur and nodded questioningly at Merlin. 

“Yeah… he’s not just a sorcerer,” Arthur said awkwardly.

Leon raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say, Your Highness?”

Merlin lifted a box of faceplates onto the worktable and picked one out, showing Gwen how it was a copy of his features. There were over twenty in the box.

“A little warning would have gone a long way,” the first knight said. Somehow Leon could sound scathing without breaking decorum. 

“Didn’t think there was time.” he said, “my bad.”

Leon’s face pulled into a disapproving frown, but he didn’t talk back. Instead, he sighed and walked over to Merlin and Gwen, inquiring over the parts they were looking for. 

Merlin, momentarily distracted, said offhand, “I’ve got all the A4’s and G13’s for my arm, but there are some connection wires missing from the supply and a couple of A2 gears I can’t find.”

Leon nodded like the jargon made sense and started sifting through boxes. “Would a C5 work instead?”

“Huh? Yeah! How did you know?” Merlin beamed, friendliness winning out over caution. 

Leon coughed and mumbled something. Arthur caught the words “grandfather” and “clockmaker.”

Arthur watched in surprise as the trio gathered parts and tools, wrapping them in oilcloths. It wasn’t safe to leave them down here when Nimueh could come back at any time, after all. He stood by the door, keeping an eye out for trouble. 

After twenty minutes Gwen leaned on the wall beside him, watching Leon and Merlin continue working. 

“He’s taking this better than us,” she said, nodding to the knight. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Tell me about it,” Arthur replied, “that man is too put together.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Gwen said.

Merlin gestured wildly, no doubt complaining about something, then unwrapped the bandages on his arm a bit. Leon leaned closer, shaking his head over the damage and clicking his tongue. 

“No, it’s really not,” Arthur affirmed.

They finished shortly after and left the catacombs carrying as much metal as possible without looking suspicious. Merlin was back to jumping at shadows, and Gwen kept her hammer ready in one hand while they walked. Once they were back on the main tunnels though, Merlin suddenly stopped. 

“Arthur, where are we taking all this?” he asked, not knowing which route to take. 

“Well, we need someplace to keep you hidden and fix you up,” he told him, glancing at Leon, “obviously it’s got to be out of the way.”

Leon tapped his fingers against his sword, catching on far too quickly for Arthur’s taste. 

“Sire, you cannot be serious,” he said. 

Arthur shrugged, wishing he didn’t have to be. Then he turned to Merlin and asked, “how do you feel about having a roommate?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so hope you loved Leon! He's getting a bigger part in this fic than I expected (author regrets nothing) although how much he plays into the finale I don't know. (Next chapter marks the start of the 'final' arc, though Roommate has hinted that I may have to continue from there... eh, well see.)
> 
> 'Bout that cryptic 'no time left' comment in the beginning notes; I'm volunteering to be a missionary for my church and will leave to start my training at the end of the month. Hopefully, the fact that I'm religious doesn't put anyone off, but how bad can I be if I write fanfic anyway? haha, don't answer that. (still regrets nothing)
> 
> Aaaaanyway, once I'm on the field I won't be on Ao3 (definitely coming back once my service is over though), so that's why I'll be MIA for a while... well, for 18 months, but that's it, I swear! >-<

**Author's Note:**

> The next part should come. I won't say when, but it will come. 
> 
> Once again, shout out to TheStoryVerse for beta-reading and being awesome!


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